Call of the Wild
by Arwen Thandiel
Summary: With the major players out of the game, some temporary, others...not, the job of putting the mutant community back together falls on an unlikely and definitely uninterested girl. Up until now, no one but Xavier new about her, but soon everyone will know, and she'll be put to the test, whether she wants to be or not. OC/Gambit/Deadpool
1. Chapter 1

Welcome!

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Chapter 1

Every day is a struggle to maintain control.

This little town has no idea the demon it houses.

I doubt they'd smile and wave if they knew…knew what I really am.

I saw the battle on TV, the one on Alcatraz. Seems to me, the Brotherhood was close to winning this time. I know Xavier is dead, I felt it in my mind when she broke him into a billion tiny pieces. I wonder if she knows…cares who else got hurt when he disappeared.

I've spent most of my life keeping Charles Xavier out of my head. He noticed me once, when I first evolved. I must have screamed so loud in my mind. I could feel him reaching out to me, trying to make it better, to take my fear but his presence only made it worse. I'll never forget the searing fire that raged across my neurons when he touched my mind.

Never again. In that moment, my…mutation, gift _whatever _responded in what I now think of as fight or flight and locked him out, permanently. I can could feel his presence from time to time, like a cat pawing at the door asking to be let in. There were even time when I wished I could. The idea of being connected to another person was a curious if not terrifying notion and I know knew he meant me no harm.

But, it doesn't matter now. Xavier is dead. Phoenix is dead (for now because you know…phoenix, so…yeah). The X-Men are scattered, no viable leader with Cyclopes gone, as well. I suppose the only consolation is that Magneto was "cured" and won't be _Brotherhooding_ around anytime soon. Jack-ass.

Both of them really. Xavier and Magneto, two sides of the same coin…both on a mission in different directions, only to wrap around the world and continually run into each other. I'm glad I didn't get caught up in that whole mess. Well, at least I think I am. Because you know what really sucks? Watching those mutant kids on TV look around like their last bastion of hope has just been chucked out with the morning trash. They got used to it, you see. Comfortable. They were in the mansion, being taught about stupid, _impossible_ shit like community and unity and all the other 'ity's' those liars through around when they want something done their way.

Xavier set them up. Plain and simple. He taught them to trust each other and look what happened! One of their own, fights against them. Pyro: another asshole. Seriously who tries to make their hair look like fire? I know it's cool to wear your team colors, but really? That shit dye-job did nothing for his swag. Yuck.

So now, here I am. On the other side of the country, watching all of this morbid bull shit go on through this blown open connection to all mutants on the planet. Thank you Captain Wheelchair. My head is throbbing, I can't focus on anything because of this torrent of…data…yeah, that's what it feels like. I'm like an overloaded server about ready to crash. Crashing sounds like a really great idea at this point. I'm exhausted, I want to sleep, I want to stop seeing this, hearing this, because it's making me feel horrible things, things like empathy that I just don't have the time for.

The last thing I want to do is get caught up in this shitstorm after spending the past 15 years avoiding it. I've done well, finished grad school (Clinical Psych…cake for a telepath but I didn't even use my mutation. I did it the old-school way), and moved back home to fail at finding a job and start panicking about my student loans.

See? NORMAL!

I don't want to be a superhero.

I don't want to wear a Lycra body suit.

Bitch please…

My ass does not look good in that. I've got cellulite, birthing hips and love-handles. I'm a REAL woman, not a freak-show comic book character with giant ta-ta's, a coke-can waist and sprinter's thighs. (But, if that shit had been part of my mutation, I would have gladly reconsidered the superhero bit. Just to have an excuse to walk my fine-ass _everywhere_ in my "uniform.")

The worst part about this is…now that Phoenix is gone (for now, see note above), I might be the only other Class: 5 mutant in the game. And the only thing I've got going for me is that Xavier apparently never squealed on me, or he never realized. I seriously doubt the later. Xavier is was many things, but stupid…not one of them.

So, now what?

I've got a six-figure student loan coming to an area near me in March, barely any job prospects (I opted out of getting licensed. I don't want to be a therapist, I just want to study the human/mutant…human mind. Shit. There's that Brotherhood bull shit. We are all human, some of us have…variations, adaptations, mutations…_whatever_, but we are all human. We think the same; eat the same, fuck the same…well maybe not for Kinetics…interesting. A thought/fantasy for another time.

I need to make some money. Start paying my own way. I don't want to live with my parents for the rest of my life. One, that's just weird. Two, they…uh…don't know I'm a mutant.

Yeah.

Kept that little nugget to myself. Don't really know how I pulled it off. After my mental freak-out with Xavier, it hasn't been a matter of "controlling" my mutation. I actually ended up having difficulty getting anything to work at all. It's as if I went from full volume to mute in one fell swoop. Now, I have to purposely turn up the volume and focus on keeping it there or everything reverts back to default…default = boring/normal/invisible.

It also means SAFE.

Sleep, that's all I want. I just want to sleep. For the first time in my life, I can't control my mutation. The volume is up…and the worst part is that it's getting louder. I don't really know how much more I can take, but I do know this: If I lose it…really lose it, there might not be anything left of this sleepy little coastal town. And, in the aftermath, it'll be pretty obvious who caused all the destruction, because I'll probably be the only one left.

Just let me SLEEP!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to those of you that have followed, favorited and reviews this story.

I hope that means everyone is enjoying things, so far. If so, let me know!

Please feel free to make suggestions, corrections and make requests for plot turns.

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Chapter 2

Clearly, things are not going my way.

I must have finally gotten the break I was begging for because here I am, tipped over and drooling on my couch…Classy.

The throbbing in my head has decreased some and the voices/presence _whatever_ of the other mutants have finally started to fade in to the background. I just hope it stays that way.

I have to mention one interesting little thing, though. I think someone noticed me. Not in the way Xavier would have; I don't think s/he is a telepath. Maybe something less intense? An empath? I don't really know, or care so long as they leave me alone.

At any rate, the kitchen sounds like the next best plan if my bed has forsaken me. Hmmm, what's a girl to eat? Healthy boring crap or sinful, punishing sweets. The answer seems obvious until I begin to reach for gooey goodness and an image pops into my mind of that cursed Lycra body suit.

Ugh. Really?

If that's not the most pathetically effective diet reinforcement, I don't know what is.

Roasted edamame and blueberries it is…and, maybe a quick jog around the block. After all, you never know when you might have to run from a mob of angry citizens screaming "Kill the mutant!" My dreams are twisted. What's a girl to do?

I suppose the snack can wait until after my workout. Time to double-sports-bra-up and hit the pavement…or partially paved road if we're being honest. There are more pot holes on my street than road. It would be so easy for me to fix…just wait until the middle of the night, fix a couple at a time. No one would notice. But no, it's too risky. Doing mutant things brings mutant attention. The last thing I want to do is put myself in the spotlight of some mutant that could actually sense how powerful I am.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

What's the use of having all this power if I'm not willing to do anything with it?

Well, you're right. I've taken the easy way out. I'd rather hide what I am and live to see another day than come out and be burned at the stake. I'm under no illusions about humanity's capacity to tolerate diversity. We've _barely_ begun to accept different ethnicities and sexual orientations.

And really, I'm with the Wizarding World on this one: Secrecy is the best policy. J.K. Rowling knows her sociology. The general population is simply not ready to understand, much less accept mutants as a daily fixture in their lives. We're good superheroes, body guards and cannon fodder, but at the end of the day, government and citizen alike would simply prefer that we shut it off and crawl back to the hole we came from until the next crisis strikes.

The threat to control and power is too substantial. And they should be afraid of us. With mutants like Magneto who can manipulate a basic mineral found in almost every element of our lives, or those like Xavier who can actually reach into your mind and take away your free will, no one should get comfortable.

The idea that we could rely on each other's sense of ethical and moral compass is laughable. We are animals by nature with a basic tri-tiered structure: Alpha, Beta, Omega. Alphas feel a will to power and no matter how ethical or moral they believe themselves to be, they will always want to be in control and resist trusting anyone else with power. Omega's will obey to please their Alphas and Betas will be forever caught in the middle trying to balance the passionate and volatile nature of the Alpha with the supplicant and vulnerable nature of the Omega. I think I've gotten way off topic.

Refocus goofball. Nothing like avoiding a workout with a spontaneous philosophical debate… by myself.

I need friends. ASAP

The sun is starting to set as I step out of the house for my run/jog/voluntary torture. The dead grass and gofer holes evoke my earlier frustration. I can only being to imagine how much good we mutants could do for our communities if we weren't so afraid of getting nuked for our troubles.

Besides, I may not be Facebook friends with the X-Men but I heard of Colonel William Striker. I have no interest in catching the attention of his inevitable copy cat.

Jogging was never a joy of mine. I'm not built for it. My back is arched, my hips are wide and my nose starts to run no matter what the weather is like. I know its "good for me" but really, why does all the good for you stuff have to be so freaking painful. In less than three minutes, I'm breathing hard and holding my arms close to my torso in a subtle attempt to stop my chest from bouncing so hard.

Maybe Lycra body suits have built in support?

By minute five my motivation has abandoned me, the songs I put on this play list are starting to irritate I'm unable to keep pace with the rhythm. Just when I decide to switch over to "interval training" (i.e., walking until I feel less horrible) I become aware of another presence.

I'm still so disoriented from the psychic backlash of Alcatraz that I can't tell if the presence is physically near me or not. After a quick scan of my environment, (which tells me nothing because really? Mystique exists and eyes lie) I decide that taking a detour is the prudent choice. If it's all mental, maybe the pain of running will help me drive it out, and if I am actually being followed, the last thing I want to do is lead them toward my house.

Two more minutes and I hear a second set of footsteps.

Well, shit.

Suddenly I wish I'd decided to start working out _before_ I upgraded to stalker package. I pick up the pace, despite the burn in my lungs and legs and hear the footsteps match pace.

_Double shit. _

I don't look behind me because I've seen the movies and I know, I KNOW that stalkers only start chasing you once you've turned around to see if they're really there. It's like Looney Toons; you can float in mid-air as long as you don't look down. The really bummer is, I'm no Road Runner and if my instincts are correct, this person is no Wile E. Coyote. No ACME anvils to save me today.

Save? Really? I'm a Class: 5 mutant. I could probably melt this guy's…girl's...creeper's face off with a Samantha nose wiggle. Suddenly, I feel both better and worse about the situation; better because I really can defend myself if needed and worse because if I need to, it's going to be a miracle if I keep my cover after this. I debate heading further into town or toward the less explored coast. The adrenaline is giving me the boost I need to keep my pace and keep moving forward, though I know I'll probably pay for it tomorrow.

I pass an elementary school and start picking up my pace. _Stay away from kids: check._

I'm sure that much later, I'll wonder where this sudden reservoir of endurance came from but right now I can't be bothered with silly details like that. The hill near the school is steep and my legs are starting to scream. I'm mollified by the sound of heavy breathing behind me. At least the creeper is working for it.

Finally, I reach the top of the hill and may a right to follow the main road. One more block and a quick left and I'm in that the entrance to the forest. It's not really a forest, it's just a few acres of miniature oak but it's dense and if I have to bust a move, I'm less likely to be seen by passers-by. Just as my feet hit the leaf-covered ground, I notice something missing.

After a minute of maneuvering, I realize what it is. The breathing; the second set of footsteps; they're gone.

Aw, hell.

Was I just being paranoid? Because really, I think I've just run the fastest two miles of my life and if this was all a self-induced mind-fuck I really need to find out who that dude was and hire him/her to be my personal creeper/trainer.

As soon as I have the thought, I realize my mistake. I have a Jurassic Park flashback, remembering the good doctor's dramatic commentary about how velociraptors hunt. It's not the one in front that kills you; it's the two from the sides that you never saw.

And, as the taser barbs dig into my right shoulder and left hip I think to myself, that's a little excessive. One is clearly…

Fuck.

The electricity arcs through my body and the pain immediately overwhelms my senses. Blackness pours over my vision like a sable cloak and I never even feel the ground as I fall.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to those of you that have followed, favorited and reviews this story.

I hope that means everyone is enjoying things, so far. If so, let me know!

Please feel free to make suggestions, corrections and make requests for plot turns.

* * *

Chapter 3

When I come too, the first thing I see is Erich Lehnsherr. At first blush, I think:

_You are the most unwelcome mirage in the history of mirages_!

And, I credit my hallucination of him in equal parts to paranoia and to the fact that I have only opened my right eye. Unfortunately, he's still there when I peel open the other one. I realize then that I'm in even bigger trouble than I thought. If I'm in a… something … truck? Van... moving vehicle thingy with Magneto (who is just as creepy in person as he is on TV, "cured" or not), these jerks clearly know I'm a mutant.

How the hell did they know?

I've been so careful. How fucking annoying!

What a waste, Grrrrr!

I take inventory of my body and realize I'm slouched over on my side. Fortunately, I'm not on the shoulder they tased me, and I have a moment of déjà vu from this morning when I woke up slumped on my couch. At least I'm not drooling this time. Eric is watching me with a pensive expression on his face. I know why. He doesn't recognize me. He can't figure out why I'm here and he's so sure he knows who all the major players are.

Well, Ha! At least I've stayed off _someone's_ radar.

I sit up slowly and feel my hip protest. Oh man, that is going to leave a nasty mark. Eric is still watching me in his creeper way but I can't be bothered with him now. There's another person sitting on the bench seat next to him, I realize, as my vision becomes more focused. She's blond, very pretty, great rack, and I feel a tickle at the back of my mind, like I should know who she is. At first, I write it off as the psychic backlash, but then I realize it's not psychic at all, its logic.

Raven Darkhölme aka Mystique, in the…_pink_ flesh and actual clothing, fortunately. My ego can't really take another hit.

Of course she would be here. Magneto is here, therefor; Mystique is here. It's the simplest form of math. I wonder if they would take offence of I started referring to them as M&M…or Eminem. Yeeeah, I'd probably get shanked. No thanks.

She's also staring at me and looks seriously unimpressed. Well tough shit. Not all of us have super hot blue bods and can walk around all badass and bare-assed all day. And, now she can't either. Ha! I shoot a flat smile and close my eyes to ward off the sudden bout of nausea evoked by sitting up. Tasers suck. The End.

The vehicle is still moving and I have no idea how long I've been out. We could have been on the move for minutes or hours. I don't even know which one of us was in this trouble truck first. I suppose I could ask, but I find myself irrationally angry with both of them.

If they could have just shut up and not tried to take over the freaking world, Megamind-style, I would have been able to find a job, pay off my student loans, maybe even get married and have kids. No one would have ever known about me. And if my kids turned out to have the X gene…well…I don't know. Shit. I might not have thought that through all the way, but it really doesn't matter now.

It's all gone. Anything I'd planned for myself up until this moment is _all_ _gone._

This realization does nothing to alleviate my nausea and I find myself taking deeper breaths to force the bile back down from my throat. Caught between blind rage and pure panic, I fall back to my most basic grounding techniques. Music has always been my touch stone. It's actually a major element of my mutation, as well, but I don't want to think about that right now.

I force my mind to focus on the rhythmic beating of my heart; still too fast, but at least consistent. As the beat fills my sense I find the energy to reach back to the music I was listening to during my run/jog/abduction sprint. I can't help but smile when the soundtrack to _Pitch Perfect_ begins to echo softly through my mind.

I briefly dabble in the idea of humming _Ace of Base: The Sign_, both to help my mood and hopefully annoy my roomies, but even acknowledging their presence pisses me off so I shift my thoughts toward _The Bella's Acapella Finals Medley_. My smile spreads to a full blown grin and I begin to hum the first few lines of Price Tag; the nausea begins to recede. By the time I've gotten to _Give Me Everything_ the image of Fat Amy rockin' out on stage makes me laugh out loud. I feel more in control of my emotions and hazard a glance at my captive/captured audience.

Eric has a sardonic smile on his lips and Raven Mystique (because she can probably still kick my ass mutation-less and handcuffed) is pointedly ignoring me. Good. At least they aren't planning to break my focus…or my neck.

Now for the real test…

Have they jacked with my ability to use my mutation?

I reach back into the reservoir of my mind and begin sifting through what I have begun to call: the Source. This is the part of me that houses my abilities and also subtly and irrevocably connects me to every other mutant on the planet. Like mutant Wi-Fi.

The Source is why I've tried so hard to stay away from politicized mutant groups. If anyone knew what I could do, really understood, some psycho would find a way to manipulate me into hurting people; mutants, humans, I don't know which but I know enough to know it wouldn't be hard. And, to be honest, I'm not really sure I can be killed. I'm not a rapid-healer…yet. But I'm pretty sure I could be if I needed to. So, torture would be pretty effective. But mostly, I don't know if my mutation would allow anyone a shot at really killing me…including _me_.

There are times when the Source feels like an entirely separate entity; a force of nature living inside me (not quite a parasite because it doesn't gain anything from me, but similar.) I've wondered at times, if I reach deep enough; pull hard enough, could I actually draw energy from the other mutants? I hope I never have to find out. The implication of such a need is terrifying.

The Source is there, in my mind. I test it to see if I can reach inside, like I do when I use my abilities. The Source is represented in my mind as an enormous, floating quicksilver sphere. When I want to use my mutation, I dip my mental "fingers" into the surface of the sphere and draw out however much I think I need to complete a specific task. When I touch it, the surface ripples and bends away from me slightly, creating a dimple in the surface. If I continue to push, the surface will eventually allow me entrance and my "fingers" will sink to the sphere. It always feels like cool honey; sticky and dense.

The first time Xavier touched my mind, there was no sphere. My mind and the Source occupied the same space. So, when he reached into my mind, he reached inside the Source and I suppose it responded like a firewall to a computer virus. The Source attacked Xavier in an attempt to reject or destroy the invader. He was forcibly ejected from my mind and I was left a quivering, sobbing mess in the middle of a vacant softball field. Not Fun.

I will be forever grateful that no one else was around to see me go down. Who knows what would have happened of some responsible adult was around to do the exact wrong thing and take me to the hospital?

Form that day on, my mutation took up the shape of the sphere in my mind, almost as if it were a sea urchin that had retracted at the foreign touch. Instead of having to exert control over my mutation, I actually had to begin purposely coaxing it out into the open. Ultimately, it was much easier for me to hide because I realized there would be no more "accidental magic." My mutation was on mental lock down.

There were a few times after that when Xavier would try to make contact, much gentler than he had the first time but his subtle effort was for not. As soon as he approached my mental barriers, the Source would expand, subsume my mind and harden into an impenetrable casing. I imagine that it looks like my brain is coated with Adamantium.

It's actually pretty freakin' cool.

Right now, the surface responds just as I expect it to; it dimples inward before allowing my "fingers" to sink into the surface. It's slightly warmer than usual and I pick up a faint trace of what can only be described as "emotional residue". I credit my Star Trek vocabulary for that nomenclature. Thank you Counselor Troi. The echo seems frantic and disorganized. I can relate. It reaches out to me like a frightened animal, testing me and sniffing my "hand".

Suddenly it engulfs my hand, races up my "arm" and I feel a powerful tug, urging me to submerge my mental self in the sphere. I resist. Now is not the time to explore this new development. I've learned what I needed to know. I still have complete access to my mutation and can use it to do whatever I might need to do. Good. Now what?

I gently pull my arm back from the sphere and clumsily try to project a sense of calm and comfort to the Source.

_I'll be back_, I whisper. _I'm not saying no, just not right now._

Projecting a sense of reluctance, the tug decreases before finally letting me go. Slowly I open my eyes, only to meet Eric's stare once more.

"Interesting," he murmurs, and I wonder what he thinks I've just done.

I'm about to snark back something truly inspired when I remember something important. Just before I started my run, I felt someone become aware of me. "The Empath." I wonder if I could find him again; reach out for help?

_No, not an option_, I immediately think.

Not only would I expose that I'm basically networked to all the mutants on the planet (if only to this one person), I would also be bringing another mutant to the attention of these assholes and putting them directly in danger if s/he were to attempt my rescue.

I file that untenable option away for more desperate times. Besides, for all I know "The Empath" is half way across the world and I wouldn't even know where send them. Or, doesn't give a shit, anyway.

"Tell me, my dear. Just what are _you_ doing in this charming little…chateau?"

Somehow, his question is both polite and profoundly condescending. Impressive. I wonder if that's part of his mutation. He's a super-snarky, super-magnet. I wouldn't put that on a resume. Doesn't really pop.

I glance at Mystique. She's watching me, too. The only clue I have that neither of them know what I was doing is the intense irritation Mystique seems to project while flicking her eyes between Eric and me. Clearly, she realizes I've done something that interested him, hence the: "interesting" comment, but she doesn't know what it is.

Good, at least I didn't ping any other mutants while on my little fishing expedition.

I'm stopped from truly answering his question when the trouble truck comes to an abrupt halt. We all rock to the side on our bench seats and I hiss when the motion irritates my hip. Eric's eyebrow goes up in question and all I can say is,

"Taser."

Apparently, 'nuf said. He nods in what can only be genuine sympathy and, for some reason, Mystique looks vaguely impressed and suddenly curious. Before I can query, she throws me a bone.

"All they used to get me in here was a 9mm. Apparently, they were more worried about resistance from you than me."

This information both shocks and terrifies me. They must know more about me than I thought if they wouldn't even risk allowing me to fight back. I realize now that I was herded like a sheep by a dog. All they had to do was put a threat behind me and I ran right to a secluded area (to protect my secret, like an idiot) and ended up giving them the perfect arena to abduct me.

Fucking stupid.

I'll keep that little secret to myself. I'm sitting across from a megalomaniac and a master strategist. Admitting to them how easily my capture went would be humiliating.

"Maybe they were just worried I'd scream."

A nice deflection, if I do say so myself. She seems to take that into consideration and I watch the respect slide from her expression with some regret. As amazing as it would be to have the respect of someone like Mystique, I simply cannot afford to be that interesting…to anyone. Too bad I'm already far to interesting to someone.

Finally, the truck doors swing open and the room/cage is flooded with light. I hadn't realized how dark it was in here. Mystique and Eric make no move to get up as multiple armed commandos being to appear in front of the open door. They have vicious looking guns trained on us…no not us. Fuck. Just me. All the guns are pointed at _me_. What the hell did I ever do to warrant this much caution. I'm an unemployed psychologist. This sucks.

"Try anything stupid and I shoot one of them." His voice is gruff and commanding. One of them? A play on my humanity. Unfortunately, that _will_ work.

I just can't help myself.

"I think out of the three of us, I'm the least of your concerns. Damn it Jim, I'm a therapist not a Ninja." I almost giggle after that quip. Bless you Leonard McCoy. I've been waiting years to play a line like that.

Eric snorts, and Mystique looks vaguely impressed once again. Apparently, raw bravado in the face of AK's, is an acceptable replacement for mad ninja skills. Good to know.

"Shut the fuck up and get out of the trunk." How rude!

"That rhymes." I'm suddenly inspired…

"Shut up! I mean it," he barks, and I can practically feel my two roomies holding their breath. I take the plunge…

"Anybody want a peanut?"

One of the other commandos actually laughs, Eric cracks a genuine smile but the most gratifying response is from Mystique.

"Classic."

Later, I will determine that being slammed in the head by the butt of an AK was totally worth the Princess Bride reference. It was a close call but a nerd's gotta represent. And, as the world goes dark once again I think:

_Next is Firefly, fo sho. _


	4. Chapter 4

Please feed the plot bunnies, muses and imagination demons!

Read and Review!

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Chapter 4

When I wake up this time, I'm immediately nauseous and have a matching headache.

Before my mutation activated, I used to have brutal migraines so this is nothing compared to what I suffered through during puberty. Once again, I take stock of my accommodations and discover that my roomies are gone and I am no longer in the trouble truck. To be honest, I miss my roomies a little (a lot). I was feeling much braver when I had an audience to entertain.

_Stay calm and pay attention_, I say to myself. _Constant Vigilance!_

The room can't really be called a room. It is clearly a cell, and a small one at that. Prison cells never looked this cramped on _Locked Up._

I hadn't really paid attention before but my hands are bound and I have enough sensory memory to know that they were bound in the trouble truck, as well. These guys are really overestimating my awesome.

The light in the room is coming from overhead florescent panels that line the walkway in front of my cell. There are more of these little cages, lots of them. I suddenly feel like I'm in a kennel; a mutant kennel. This does not bode well.

I'm propped up against the back grate (there are no true walls), facing the walkway. From my current position, I can't see any other occupants but I have a feeling that won't be true for long. This seems familiar, somehow; like the memory of a dream. Snatches of things flit across my mind, sparks, tables, monitors… and I begin to realize that these _are_ memories but they're not mine.

As soon as the realization comes, I feel the presence of another mind. It hovers just outside my awareness, like a phantom. Whoever it is, they know enough about my mental defense system to keep their distance. But, how am I sensing their memories? Again, as soon as I ask the question, I realize that it is actually me doing the invading this time. I must have reached out while I was unconscious and made a connection somehow. That leads me to the conclusion that these memories belong to my Empath.

_My Empath? _I repeat to myself.

An interesting shift to ownership, I'll wonder on that at another time.

Just as I begin to consider making a more obvious connection, a door slams open to the right and I hear footsteps pounding down the walkway, tapping an urgent cadence on the grated floor. Great, someone's in a hurry to get to me and I bet that's not a good thing.

As I suspected, Commando # 3 stops in front of my cage. #1 is the guy with the AK and #2 is the one that laughed at my joke. Therefore, #3 is…this guy. For a moment he just stares at me, considering. I bet he's wondering what the fuss is all about. Oh buddy, you don't wanna know. _Really_.

Finally, he seems to come to a conclusion (most likely to follow protocol, despite my lack of danger-ness) and motions for two more commandos to stand in front of the cage with AK's while he depresses the lever that opens the door. It swings open, but I just sit and wait. I observed Eric and Mystique enough to know that caution is the better part of valor here. No sudden movements. Don't want to spook the natives.

"How's your head?" Commando #4 asks.

He actually sounds a little concerned. I bet he's the one that laughed at my _Princess Bride_ reference which would really make him #2 but I'm not sure so he'll stay #4 for now. Perhaps I can make a few "friends" while I'm at it, maybe gain some leverage, sympathy, _anything_ that increases my chances of getting out of here…at all.

I know the odds. Once they figure out they can't kill me, torture and captivity will be the only means they have to control and threaten me. They're not wearing masks and I've seen enough action flicks to know what that means. When the bad guys don't care if you can identify them, it's because they don't expect you to ever leave…alive, at least.

"It hurts." I complain. "Was that really necessary? I'm mean seriously; he practically dared me to complete the scene. And I'm the one that get's brained for it. Bad form."

Commando #4 laughs again. It's a nice, rich sound that soothes my nerves. I have to remind myself that, despite his seemingly good spirits, he'll shoot my ass if I make a wrong move. I suppose that's what you would call a love/hate relationship. Tragic.

"You sure are mouthy," Commando #5 chimes in.

It seems I've got a fan club. Good. Better for them to see me as a real person rather than just another mutant…or worse, a vulnerable woman. Gooseflesh races up my arms at that thought. Let's not go there unless it's absolutely necessary. It better not be fucking necessary, EVER.

"I've heard that before, but I prefer to think of myself as highly opinionated."

Both of them chuckle at that. I have to assume that their willingness to talk to me at all means that Commando #1 aka Asshole with a Gun (AWAG) is not here. Good. At least I can hope I won't be hit again.

"Opinionated. Mouthy. Same thing. Are you gonna puke or something? He hit you pretty hard. I bet he thinks you're one of those rapid healers…are you?"

Ah, good soldier; using a little friendly interaction to ferret out some info. I'll take the bait. Better to let him think I'm naive rather than dangerous. The best way to tell a lie, is to smother it with a bunch of meaningless truth. That way, it's harder for them to tell where one ends and the other begins. Tells are blurred, especially if you ramble through the whole thing. Thank you _Burn Notice_.

"I'm pretty nauseous but I don't think I'll puke unless you make me stand up too fast (truth). I think you guys are clearly overestimating my mojo here (lie). I'm no rapid-healer (truth). You should be able to tell; I've got visible scars on my arms. Rapid-healers don't scar (truth). Besides, the taser burns are still there, which was way fucking overkill by the way (truth). And where's the asshole that sheep-doged me?" _Perfection._

They look thoughtful at my statement. I shift my sitting position so they can see the scars on my left arm. One from a surgery when I was little and another from hitting my arm on the lip of the oven while I was baking. They seem to take my rambling statement as truth. _Win_. Commando #4 pipes up again.

"Why? You wanna share your _opinion_ with him?" He's smirking and I can't help but grin back.

"Fuck no. That was the fastest and furthest I've ever run in my life. I wanna hire him as my personal trainer. I'll actually be dangerous in no time if I work out with Scary McStalker."

I can see the implication of my statement sink in even as they laugh at my self-deprecating humor. Good. There figuring it out. Clearly, there were expecting me to be as physical and strategic as Mystique and evasive as Eric. Maybe now they'll stop treating me like a live grenade, knowing that I'm no Jason Borne.

"I'll be sure to let him know. I bet he could use the cash." That was #3.

Got 'em all talking. Nice

"Cash? Oh no, honey. I just finished grad school and I have a six figure student loan bill coming down the pipe line. I won't have cash until the next millennium. I pay in cookies, cake, or other assorted food items. It might be counterproductive for _me_ but I bet you guys work out enough that you could eat your weight in sugar and not gain a pound. I secretly hate you for that, by the way."

They all laugh at that one and 4 and 5 look a little put out.

"What?" I ask.

They turn to each other and then back to me.

"We like cookies too."

Ha! So it is true: the way to a man's (commando's) heart _is_ through his stomach. Typical, but I'm not complaining. I'm about to try my hand at negotiation when I hear more boots coming down the walkway. Uh oh, party's over.

"What the fuck is taking so long. Get the freak out of her cage and let's go."

Oh, nice. I bet that's AWAG. At least 3, 4 and 5 have the good sense to look chagrined. I can't really tell if it's because of AWAG's description of me or because they got caught chatting up the prisoner, but I suppose it really doesn't matter. The bit of enmity between the four of us is gone and I am officially _persona non grata_ again.

"Shall I stand, or would you prefer to drag me out by my hair?"

Apparently I just can't help myself. Fortunately AWAG ignores me in favor of glaring at 3, 4 and 5. They look properly chastised.

"Yes, sir" they reply in chorus.

I manage to not make a comment, for how. I'm all over that as soon as AWAG is out of hearing distance though. A girl's got standards. Finally, AWAG heads back out of the kennel. 3, 4 and 5 turn back to me and 4 motions for me to make my way out of the cage. I have to stoop. The cage isn't tall enough for me to stand upright. I'm only 5'9'' so that's saying something.

Keeping my eyes on them, I move cautiously onto the walkway and wait for instruction. Compliance is acceptable so long as the orders aren't unreasonable.

"I'm having a hard time believing you're a mutant," 5 confesses. "We know you are. We have your blood work. (_Oh…the hell?_) We know you haven't been 'cured.' But I have to admit, I expected a bit more…ah…"

"Dramatics?" I supply.

He has the decency to look embarrassed. Smart man. Tasing a girl while she's working on her never-going-the-beach body is such a dick move. Not to mention the guns, potential concussion and dog cage. Do they really thing we can all do what Phoenix did? Disrupt and destroy the very bonds of matter? No such luck.

We begin to make our way down the walkway and I take a moment to look around. There really are no other people in the cages. Somehow, I'm relieved. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Well, maybe AWAG, but that's beside the point. Just as we move past the last cage I see something on the floor. It doesn't register right away and it takes me a few more steps to realize that it was a puddle of drying blood. Not a stain. Not dried blood. Dry_ing_ blood. The last of my good humor evaporates and my head snaps back forward.

5 looks to see what changed my mood and his eyes narrow as he realizes what I saw. Yeah, party _is_ over. We're silent for the rest of the walk. Reaching our final destination takes a few more minutes. The facility is large and sterile but old and made of a shit-ton of concrete. I take some notice of the ache in my shoulders, likely as much from being bound behind me as being tased. I attempt to roll my them to loosen up the cramping muscles, but 3 presses firmly my back from behind.

"I'm not trying to get away. I'm just trying to stretch my shoulders."

"Fine," he replies and I can hear the tension in his voice.

I guess whatever progress we've all made is gone with the reminder that they kill mutants …and I'm a mutant. That would put a cramp in any relationship.

The room we finally arrive in is spacious and mostly empty. It's at least four or five stories high, made of dirty gray concrete and as long and wide as a football field. After taking in the sheer size of the room, I focus on the one area of the room that seems to be recently used. In fact, it's in use now. It takes me a minute to understand what I'm seeing. As the details of a hospital bed, medical equipment and half-naked man coalesce into a comprehensible image, I feel panic bubbling in my gut.

"Okay," I whisper. "Now, I am gonna puke."

3 turns to me, alarm clearly written across his face. There's no time for him to reply, whether he planned to or not, because two more sets of commandos enter the room with Eric and Mystique in tow. Great. Clearly they want something from me and are going to use Eric and Mystique to…motivate me. I don't know what the hell they think I can do. I don't see anything in this room I can manipulate to their advantage. And I know they don't know about the Network.

"Ah, the good doctor is in."

A voice echoes from deeper in the cavernous room. He's clearly in good humor as the laughter in his voice suggests. Someone likes laughing at their own jokes. Awesome; a psycho comedian. I thought that was my shtick.

"My name is Colonel..."

"Sanders?" I supply.

Eric smiles and it's Mystique that lets a chuckle escape this time. Yay.

Col. Sander's good humor evaporates quickly. 4 bumps my shoulder, probably telling me it's time to stop being a smartass but all he really does is aggravate my taser burn. I hiss at the impact and he grimaces at me in apology. At least now I know I haven't lost them completely.

"My dear, you seem to be operating under the mistaken belief that you have some leeway here."

I go for broke, too freaked out by the bed and it's occupant to really understand what I'm risking. I'm scared and when I'm scared, I snark.

"Oh no, I am profoundly aware that I have no leeway here. It seems that you are the one operating under the mistaken belief that I can benefit you in any way. I really don't know what you think I'm capable of but so far, you have seriously overestimated the power of my mutant whammy."

Col. Sanders (henceforth, he will be called) glares at me. Original. How about a villainous monologue? Go!

"I know exactly what you are capable of, freak. And you will do exactly as I say or things will start to become…uncomfortable. Don't you see? Abominations like you are the reason…" Blah, blah, blah. I stop listening at this point and take the time to observe Eminem. (I can call them that in my brain and they will never know!) Neither of them seems particularly interested in the monologue and each appears to be casing the joint. Nice. I hope they take me with them in the Great Escape.

I feel my Empath, still like a phantom, resting against my mental barrier. I don't know why but I get the impression that it's a "he." He's just there, waiting. For what, I don't really know. I wish I could reach out to him for some help. I'm quickly getting to the point where I think it might be worth the risk. Especially since Col. Sanders' voice is getting louder and more impassioned. MutherFukin' Cray Cray.

It's not until he announces, with more than a little dramatic flair, that he will reveal to me his greatest creation.

_Who says that anymore?_

I tune in just in time to see him gesture to the prone man in the hospital bed. I've avoided paying him any attention until now, too terrified to process the implication. His head is shaved bald and his skin is the color of honey, tan and beautiful. Not a single scar or blemish. And he's cut like a freaking statue. If he's this defined unconscious and relaxed, I can only imagine what he looks like awake and flexing those corded muscles.

_Hot dog_

Focus!

"The project was scrapped after Colonel Striker screwed the pooch but I knew there was a backup plan. He thought I was just some dumb, jack-boot thug. Not so dumb now, eh?!"

This guy has serious self-esteem issues. Textbook Narcissist. And Canadian? Good to know.

"May I present to you, Weapon XI…or Wade Wilson; his slave name, as you would say Ms. Darkhölme. He's stable…for now. And you, my good doctor, are going to keep him that way."

_Uh, what?!_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Play it cool, play it cool…

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" _Not playing it cool._

"My dear…"

"Listen Colonel Sanders, I'm not your dear. I don't know what you think I can do but I am seriously lost here. What do you mean stable? You know I'm not that kind of doctor, right? Damn it, I'm a psychologist, not an internist…Jim."

_Note to self: Official bad guy name is Colonel Jim Sanders. Check_

Seriously, at this point I can't really help myself. My sarcasm is the only thing keeping me grounded. Sanders looks pissed.

_Whatever JIM._

Just as he is about to say something profound, I'm sure, Wade/Weapon XI opens his eyes.

_Uh…preeeeeetty_

My inner fangirl goes doe-eyed. It doesn't last long though because just as I begin to re-gather my thoughts, I see Wade's eyes go wide and I turn just in time to catch Sanders draw back for a punch.

_When did he get that close?_

"Sir, that might not help…"

But it's too late.

The punch lands solidly on my cheekbone, his knuckles catching the edge of my brow bone and pain explodes across my senses. Later I will realize that he hit me on the same side that AWAG nailed me with his AK. Not good. I crumple like my strings have been cut and my knees hit the ground hard. Just as the side of my head is about to collide with the unforgiving concrete, someone catches me.

Alarm races through my mind and it's not mine. Did my Empath feel that? Does he actually know I'm in pain? Does he care? Trying to keep track of so many thoughts and questions exhausts me and I allow my eyes to close.

"No, no, no kiddo. Stay awake. No sleeping on a concussion."

That must be 4 but his voice seems far away, like listening to the TV while under the covers. He cradles my head and I'm glad for it because I have no control over my neck and the weight of my head is painful.

My empath echoes 4's concern and the directive, though I hear no words. I'm sure now that he is at least somewhat aware of what's happening to me. My shields are still up though, so no clear projections or instructions are making it through.

Access denied.

"I think I'm gonna throw up; for real this time."

And I'm telling the truth. The nausea is back with a vengeance and there are black spots in my vision. Even my own voice seems distant and I belatedly realize that moving my jaw after taking a punch to the face was not a good plan. The vibration of my own voice makes my cheekbone ache and throb. My eye is tearing up and swelling shut so quickly that I can actually feel the skin tightening, like it's going to split open any second.

"Sir, she's already taken a blow to the head, now this. Might I suggest keeping her conscious and relatively unharmed so that she may complete the task you've given here? I doubt a concussion or a broken cheekbone will help her focus."

"Falling for the freak, soldier?"

Sanders voice was calm but the icy threat was clear.

"No sir, just attempting to maintain the mission objective. Reactivate Weapon XI and…"

"Shut the fuck up. They don't need to know everything.'

_Interesting. There's more?_

"Yes, sir."

"_Shhhhhhh! _Could you two shut up for a second or I am seriously going to lose my, well, I don't' remember when I ate last so…_whatever_. Just be quiet! And you, help me stand up, I think this position is making it worse."

The rant is painful but worth it as 4 follows my orders (_Ha_!) and slowly levers me back upright. With one of his arms around my waist and the other holding my shoulder to steady me, I can see the genuine concern in his eyes. He might want to get a grip on that before Sanders shoots him for it. Sanders is clearly not a fan of mine.

I turn my focus back to Wade and see a matching concern on his face. Well, isn't that nice.

"Okay Sanders, I get it, you're playing hard ball. You hit women like a big strong man. Good for you. But, I still can't do what you want if I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. So, let's try this again with less violence. What do you mean _stable for now_."

Clearly I've annoyed him again and he reaches back again, this time it looks like he's going to backhand me. I hate this guy.

_Violence is not the answer! Make love not war…well not with Sanders though, maybe 4? Definitely Wade…and Mystique. Yum_

_Speaking of Wade…_he makes a move to sit up and for some reason that bolsters my resolve.

"Hey!" I yell, and Sanders inexplicably freezes. I roll with it. "No, means no! Now, explain so you can _maintain the mission objective_ and continue on doing…whatever the hell it is you're trying to do."

He seems to consider my (logical) demand and slowly lowers his hand. I release the breath I was holding in equal measure.

Progress.

"Mr. Wilson, why don't you explain your…condition to the good doctor."

I roll my eyes at the clichéd title and immediately regret the movement as fire lances up the side of my face, digging into my brain like a drill. I barely hold in the hiss of pain, not wanting to draw attention to myself now that we are finally going to talk about something _useful_.

I glance at Eric and Mystique, and suddenly realize that I have no idea why they've been brought along on this psycho-trip. Eric raises an eyebrow at me, Spock-style and I can't help but thing that Leonard Nimoy does it better. I'm about to make my observation known when Wade beings to speak and it's just rude to interrupt pretty men.

_Please, darling. Speak to me…_

"Before the Weapon X project I was informally diagnosed as mentally unstable."

His voice is rich and he seems pleased at the descriptor assigned to him. I smile as he does and he winks at me. His grin is slightly manic and I have no doubt in my mind that he is nuttier than an Almond Joy.

_Awesom_e_! _

"After playing on Stryker's merc team for a while, I was eventually convinced, tricked whatever into undergoing the Weapon XI modifications. They took the X genes from other badass mutants and implanted them into me with the idea that I would have their abilities. It worked…kinda."

_Curious…_

"What do you mean, _kinda_?"

I feel the urge to reach out and stroke his arm, anticipating a darker twist to his story.

… _the hell? Am I that much of a sucker for a pretty face? Apparently so…_

"Well, Stryker really didn't have a sense of humor, ya' know? I he called me the Merc with a Mouth cuz I talk so much, _too_ much in some people's opinion. I disagree, of course. I just have a lot of really interesting and important things to say. Like all the time, and…"

"Jesus Christ!" I lunge at Sanders who's just jabbed a hand-held taser into Wade's side, pushing him far enough from the bed that the device mercifully breaks contact with Wade's vulnerable skin.

"You asshole!" I scream. "What the fuck is your problem? You said explain, he's explaining. And what the fuck is it with you people and tasers? Those things fucking hurt. Stop it!"

Wade's breathing is beginning to return to normal after he seized up from the pain of the electric current. Mine, however; is only getting shallower and more rapid. I belatedly realize that I'm well on the way to a panic attack. Too much has happened in too short a time. Too many changes, not enough information. I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me, my vision blurs and I sway hard on my feet.

I don't even realize I'd grabbed Wade's arm for support until I feel his strong hand grip my bicep in an attempt to support me.

"Easy now, firefly. You're okay. I'm okay, we're all okay. Okay?"

The sentence sinks in through the haze in my mind and I giggle weakly.

"Not okay, not okay, not okay." It suddenly becomes my mantra.

"Uh oh," I hear him whisper. "Uh guys, she's not okay."

I giggle uselessly, again. I've lost touch with my body and feel like I'm floating. What the hell is wrong with me? This is nothing like the panic attacks my patients have described.

"Um, baby doll?" I'm quickly growing fond of these pet names. "When was the last time you ate something?"

What a great question! I try to think but focus drips through my fingers like so much water.

"Don rember," I mutter, head lolling forward to rest on his collar bone. He smells like antiseptic and cotton. I barely resist the urge to cuddle into his warmth.

_When did it get so cold in here?_

"Seriously?! Okay, Sanders, what the fuck? You want her to do anything you're gonna have to feed and water her like every other houseplant. She's not a rapid healer, that's pretty fuckin' clear. She's starved, probably dehydrated, and concussed thanks to you and your team's anger management issues. And she's so right, ya' know. You should never hit a woman. That's fucked up. "

Somehow I end up on the bed Wade had been occupying. I don't remember him lifting me. As he moves to lay me down, I protest, the nausea like an insistent enemy at the gates of throat.

"No down," I whisper. "Yuckytummy."

Oh, cute. Baby-talk. I am at the top of my game. Soooo sexy.

"Okay, okay," he whispers back and I am so grateful for his gentle voice. "Stay up. Good girl. Lemme get you something to eat, and drink, and maybe something for your head."

_What's wrong with my head? I like my head. It thinks of stuff most times…_

My head hurts, my face hurts, and my stomach feels like a war zone. I silently beg for the black unconsciousness, headless of the consequences. I focus on the warmth of his body and the firm grip he has on me. His muscled arm is solid under my hand and I wish I had the presence of mind to appreciate the experience.

"No eat," I protest feebly. "Yuck."

"I know, honey, I know. But if you don't eat it's gonna get worse…uh, guys. She's got a fever…actually…she's burning up. What the fuck did you do to her?!"

There's some more commotion and talking, some yelling even but I barely register the flurry of activity at Wade's diagnosis. I feel the blackness creep up over my mind and I welcome it. Just before I slip away, I hear a gentle rumble in my mind…

"Sleep, _cheri_. Sleep."

"M'names not Cheri," I grumble back and I feel a rich, deep chuckle caress my mind.

"Ah, _non_? What is your name, _amour_?"

I'm starting to get confused with all the pet names so I figure it would be good to set it straight with all the voices inside and outside my head.

"Cayden," I whisper.

"Cayden," I hear in murmured surround sound.

As I register that both Wade and my Empath have echoed my name, a wave of calm washes over me and I sleep.

* * *

**French Translations:**

cheri = darling

non = no

amour = love, beloved

**Author's Note:** Physical descriptions of characters are going to come directly from the movies rather than the comic books, though some comic info will be used as background.

Thoughts, Opinions, Requests? Leave a review and let me know!

Thanks for reading…

Arwen Thandiel


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and followers. Here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Note: I'm in the process of deciding if this will be a "triumvirate" with Cayden, Gambit and Deadpool or if it will be a Deadpool/Gambit story with Cayden in a sister/mom roll. Or her with one or the other. Thoughts? Votes? Feedback and preferences would be much appreciated.

* * *

Chapter 6

The first thing I recognize is the smell of wet concrete. With the smell come memories of the past few...hours? days? Who really knows at this point? As I move to sit up, remembering my earlier nausea, I notice a pinch on the back of my hand that can only mean I've been given an IV. A vision of Wade, prone on the hospital bed, floods my mind and I panic.

I have no reason to trust that what's in that IV is good for me. In a rush, I pull at the medical tape on the back of my hand and have just about pulled out the needle when gentle hands enclose mine.

"No, no, no" I mumble still confused and panicked. "Not okay, not good…"

I try to pull at the needle again but whoever is holding me back is a lot more coordinated, if not stronger, than I am at the moment.

"It's okay Rocket. It's water, it's just saline."

Hmmm, that must be Wade, with his pet-name fetish. I hear a chuckle and belatedly realize that I must have said that out loud.

"It's okay Princess, I've been known to entertain far more _exotic_ fetishes than pet-names."

His voice is still rich and soothing and I still have no defense against his charms.

"Promise?" I reply, before I really understand what I'm implying.

I'm sure a blush rips across my cheeks as he begins to laugh freely.

"Oh no, don't get bashful on me now. I'm a big fan of your mouth…ah yeah, both literally and metaphorically. Though I'm more familiar with the later than the former. Wouldn't mind knowing both though. Do you like kissing? I like kissing. I also like swords, katanas mostly, but anything will do in a pinch. Mostly, I like sharp things, yeah? Do I need a hair cut? I bet I do. Like to keep it short. Don't want it getting in the way when I'm trying to kill some dude. Have you ever…"

Wade is unceremoniously interrupted by Erik's smooth tenor.

"My dear, how are you feeling now, hmm? Better with some water?"

Part of me is grateful for the interruption and part of me is annoyed that I never got to see how much longer Wade could have gone before taking a breath. That was a seriously impressive stream-of-consciousness ramble. It thought I was good, but Wade can make it an Olympic sport.

"A little better." And I smile with the statement, half at Erik and half at Wade who seems to brighten considerably with the information. "What happened?"

Wade is clearly about to launch into, what is sure to be an entertaining and entirely unhelpful, explanation when Mystique's voice demands all our attention.

"You had a panic attack"

Awesome, waita look cool in front of my fellow badass mutants.

"Uhhh…"

Mystique continues. Oh good, there's more.

"Wade noticed that you had a fever which prompted a half-assed medical examination."

I tense at the implications and Erik's eyes narrow. After a moment he seems to come to some sort of conclusion.

"We were all present during the examination and you were treated with dignity, if a bit more roughly than Mr. Wilson preferred."

At this, Wade is the one to blush and I wonder what kind of fuss he must have put up after I passed out to make a hardened mercenary blush like a 12-year-old girl.

He's still shirtless and I take a moment to do some of my own "examining." He really is a beautiful man; cut, that v-shape to his the muscle in his lower abdomen that makes my heart pound, and the most gorgeous brown eyes and earnest smile. All in all, the sexiest deranged puppy I have ever seen. Bless his heart.

"The examination confirmed a moderate concussion, severe dehydration, and some abnormal brain activity that they are attributing to your mutation. Do you know anything about that?"

_Huh?_

Mystique and Erik both look genuinely curious while Wade has begun to stare at my head as if he can actually _see_ the abnormal activity.

_Dork_

"I don't, actually. I've made a pretty significant effort to stay off the radar. I've never had any readings taken, at least that I know of, so I really don't know what my baseline is, much less what would be considered abnormal for me."

All three look as though they'd been expecting that answer. There's a tense silence in the room after my admission and I struggle to find something else to talk about.

"Where is everyone else?"

Mystique rolls her eyes and it seems that it's Wade's turn to talk again. He looks positively elated. I brace myself for the tsunami of words. He doesn't disappoint.

"We'll after you fainted, which was pretty dramatic and cute by the way, Sanders, I like that nickname, I thing I'll keep it, freaked out. I think he was worried he broke you before you could do what you were brought here for. The doctor-lady, lemme know what you come up with for her, came over and started with the examining. She ordered some stuff that the other goons ran off to get for you and then they made me put you down, which sucked because you're warm and it's cold in here and no one will give me my shirt back which I kinda understand because really, look at me, I'm totally smokin'. And then they hooked you up to stuff and the doctor-lady, we'll call her Janet for now, Janet noticed the funky brain waves and they all freaked out a bit and shut down the room. I think they were worried that you were gonna pull a Carrie, which would have been sooooo cool. Could you? Do we need blood? I can get a pig…or a guard."

He has not once stopped to take a breath and even Erik and Mystique are looking at him with reluctant respect. _Classic_. Time to interrupt before he pops a vain or something.

"Okay, so they'll…what? Wait until they're reasonable sure I'm not going to burn down the town and then come back in and we all start again? That sounds profoundly boring." I scrunch up my face in frustration. "How about you continue with your story about why they want me here to begin with?"

I'm reluctant to encourage his chatter, more for the sake of Erik and Mystique rather than myself. I find his never-ending narration soothing in this nightmare place.

"Oh right," he states, looking surprised at the reminder that none of us are here voluntarily. "Um, okay where was I? Oh yeah, the 'kinda' right before Sanders tased me. You're right you know, that does freakin' hurt. How do you know it hurts? Did they tase you? What the fuck!"

"They did, apparently," Mystique interjects.

She's watching Wade with an expression of curiosity and I'm pretty sure my thoughts match hers. It's sweet, comforting even, but why does Wade care about me at all? He seems attached to me for more than just what I could potentially do for him. He even seems genuinely offended at the idea that someone would hurt me. It's too much to consider right now and I motion for Wade to continue his story, only realize that he has begun pacing and muttering to himself.

"Fucking assholes. Tasers? Really? She's just a girl, not even a healer. Why the hell would they do that? I'll fucking kill'em. That's a good idea! Good job Wade, just kill them all with something sharp and then…"

I stop his pacing and ranting with a hand to his forearm. It seems to surprise him once more that there is anyone else in the room with him. I recall his statement about being "mentally unstable" and I'm beginning to see how that might be the case. However, as much as his behavior seems to make everyone else uncomfortable, I've only seen evidence to this point of someone with pretty severe ADHD.

"I guess they were worried I'd scream. Let's not talk about that right now. We don't know when they'll deem it safe to come back in and I'd like to have more information about what's going on before they do."

He seems both incensed and focused by my words and moves to continue the story.

"Okay, yeah ummm, it kinda worked because I wasn't really done baking when they took me out of the oven. Stryker had removed my eyelids, which sucked, permanently closed my mouth, which is just fucking rude, and programmed me to do whatever he ordered me to do, which was really boring, until he ordered me to kill Wolverine and I guess I kinda…well, I lost which is really embarrassing. He chopped off my head, which I _totes_ forgive him for, and I fell into one of the stacks. I got lucky though cuz my head kinda rolled back toward my body and got close enough to my neck that I actually started to heal. It took a long-ass time and I guess Sanders found me after a while and started this project to 'reactivate' me. After doing the prelim exams, Janet realized what I've got a serious problem…"

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at his telling of this story. I can tell its all true by the resonance in his voice (another element of my gift that I'm not telling anyone about, for now.) It's all so horrible and I don't know if I can handle more, but I have to know what they want from me…if I'm even capable of doing anything for him.

"What's the problem?"

My voice comes out as a whisper betraying my shock at his gruesome story.

"Cancer."

_What?!_

"What?"

Not what I was expecting

"Cancer, I had cancer before the project started and the docs missed it. With this rapid healer gene, it's kinda freaked out the cancer and it's starting to metastasize at an insane rate. They need you to stabilize me; my brain and my body, or I'll be useless and they'll have to liquidate my part of the program and start again on Weapon XII."

"Liquidate as in mafia. Like, kill you because they fucked up and you have cancer and crazybrain?"

He laughs at the incredulity in my voice and I realize that my naiveté is showing. Of course they would kill him for it. To them he's nothing more than a broken piece of equipment and if they can't fix him they'll throw him away. I hate this!

"Okay, fine. I guess in a stupid military, megalomaniac way (Erik pulls another Spock eye-brow lift. Oops, forgot who else was in the room) that makes sense. So they want me to cure whatever mental health issues you have and, throw in a little cure for cancer along the way? Have I got that right? Right, okay, nothing I haven't done before because…oh wait, I haven't done that before because it's fucking impossible! Oh my god, what is wrong with them. Why do they thing I can do anything about this, not that I don't want to because you sure as hell don't deserve to suffer anymore, much less die for something you can't control but …"

Wade hugs me. Honest to god, hugs me.

"You are so adorable!"

I can't believe that is his response to my near-panic rant. I don't pull away from the hug, because really, who would? I do, however, look up into the one way windows that are so clearly for observation and ready myself to make my opinion of this known. Just as I'm about to start screaming at them for being so fucking stupid I catch Mystique's eyes on me.

She seems amused by the entire scene anticipating the next ridiculous exchange between Team Sanders and Team…Us. Whatever!

"_Careful cheri, no be sense en showin' all your cards jus' yet_."

Ah, good. Now I'm hearing voices, Cajun voices if my memory of _Waterboy_ serves. Adam Sandler movies are absolutely a valid source of life-information. Thank you.

But, I remember that sweet cadence from before and can't help but agree with the advice. There's really no sense in Sanders knowing I can't do what he wants me to do. And in the meantime, maybe Erik and Mystique can finagle some mutant-flavored awesome and get us all the hell outta here.

"_Good thought_," I project back. "_But, ummm, why can I hear you? Or why can you hear me? Or both?_"

"_You tell me, cheri, it es your ability, en not mine, dat makes des possible_."

Good to have that confirmed. Clearly we need a rescue so…

"_Can you find me? I'm kinda in trouble here_."

"_Non, I cannot cheri, not widout havin' at least some idea of where ta look. I could track ya' from some distance but not if we be across dis world from eachoder."_

Figures. Okay, next step gather intel. If I could give him a place to start, maybe I can stall until help arrives. With enough clues we might just make this work.

"Mystique? How far do you think we traveled from where they picked me up?"

She's startled by the abrupt change in conversation topic and may just be about to answer my question when Wade interrupts.

"You want to know where we are, right?"

I nod my head as much as I am able since I'm still wrapped up in his arms. This guy was not hugged enough as a kid, clearly.

His response is so matter of fact it takes me a few seconds to realize what he said.

"Oh, that's easy. We're on Three Mile Island."

Really? That _is_ easy, I relay the info to the Cajun in my head.

"_We're on Three Mile Island. Do you know where that is?_"

"_Baise_!"

That can't be good.

* * *

**French Translations:**

cheri = darling

non = no

baise: Fuck

Thank you all!

I also beta should anyone need the service.

Arwen Thandiel


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and followers. You guys are so motivating! Here is the next chapter. Hope you enjoy! Happy 12/12/12

Chapter 7

The discussion with the voice in my head is abruptly interrupted by the voices on the outside of my head. Wade is looking at me like I'm the crazy one, which is both ironic and slightly disturbing. I immediately wonder how long I was staring off into space, talking to the Cajun in my head. Man, I really need to find out what this guy's name is. It's important to have names for all the voices. Keeps things organized.

Colonel Sanders has come back into the room and has apparently been talking to me for some time. Oops. I glance over at Erik who seems to find the situation very amusing, but underneath that condescending smirk I can see that I've given something away. Shit. I think he might know that I'm "linked in."

"I see that you seem to be recovering well enough." That's Janet, damn it. "What can you tell me about your abnormal brain readings?"

I look at her incredulously. Well, at least I know they are too stupid to have been monitoring our most recent conversation. Good to know. They suck at this!

"Nothin'. Didn't know I had an abnormal brain. What's the prognosis doc? Is it a tumor?"

Wade goes for it…Dork.

"It's nad a tuma."

Passable imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger. I clap. Wade smiles. Sanders growls. Really? Who growls? My cat growls, but only when he's horny…Ew, Sanders, keep that to yourself!

"Really, I didn't know I had abnormal brain waves. I thought my brain waved just like everyone else, ya' know. Elbow elbow, wrist wrist?"

Wade cracks up at that but Janet and Sanders do not look amused. Figures. At least no one's hit me with anything yet so I continue.

"Mr. Wilson has been so kind as to catch me up on why he needs to be 'stabilized' as you say. Now, I'm sure you already know that I'm a psychologist…(blank stares, really?)…or not. Okay, I may be a psychologist but I'm not licensed and I'm not really sure what you want me to do with Wade's brand of crazy."

Wade smiles and I smile back and say, "Besides, I'm kind of a fan." His grin gets bigger and I don't even chance a look at the wonder twins i.e., Sanders and Janet.

"That being said, it sounds like the metastasizing tumors are the real issue. Am I right?"

"That is the immediate issue, yes." Janet has a sour look on her face. Her mousey brown hair is pulled back into the most stereotypical overworked doctor-bun I have ever seen. There's no way this girl is ever making it on to Gray's Anatomy. Her eyes are hard as she regards me and I'm starting to wonder if they were expecting me to be some all-powerful super mutant. I hope that's not what they were expecting. Lemme check.

"Were you expecting me to be some kind of all-powerful super mutant?"

Never let it be said that I don't say what I'm thinking. Janet and Sanders have the good grace to look chagrined at my identification of what is clearly becoming a serious flaw in their plan for world domination. At this point, I really want to ask which of them is Pinky and which is the Brain, but I restrain myself…barely.

"Okay kiddies. I can get started on the 'cancer' issue and see if I can make any progress. Are we working on some kind of timeline here? I've never done something like this before but I would like to know approximately how much time I have before G.I. Joe over there starts pistol-whipping me again for 'motivation'."

I so put that in air quotes and then rub my hands together like Mr. Miagi. Cancer on…cancer off. How hard can it be, right? Guh, I'm so screwed.

Sanders and Janet both looked shocked at my easy acquiescence to their plan. So does Wade for that matter and I reach over to squeeze his hand. Not gonna punish the pretty boy because his bosses are poster children for anti-breeding initiatives. Erik looks at me with his patented evil genius calculating stare. That's impressive…Gandalf.

"I want to see progress by the end of the week or we may find ourselves without a use for you anymore."

Sanders attempts an evil smirk with this but seriously, we're all in a room with Magneto. Sanders doesn't have the mojo to pull it off and ends up looking a bit constipated. I also keep that comment to myself…for now. I bet Wade would love it. I can tell, me and this kid, we could get in a whole lot of trouble together. Sanders appears to want a response, so I oblige.

"Sure thing. Any other requests?" Why the hell did I just ask that? Mystique clearly wants to face-palm and I don't blame her. I was doing so well!

"We'll keep it to curing cancer for now, sweetheart. If I think of anything else, I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

With that ominous comment, Sanders, Janet and the Commandos Four leave the room and I take a moment to observe. Each of the commandos has the big guns, along with what appear to be a standard issue military sidearm. One of them is toting a taser = rude. They each have a knife tucked in to a boot. Their BDU's are pure black with tac vests to match. They really look like something straight out of a movie.

They must not be worried about Magneto getting his sexy back with all that metal they're sporting. And they don't seem to be overly cautious about identification-controlled entrance and exits, which means they've counted Mystique out of the mix as well. Honestly, I don't really know why I keep counting them _in_ but my instincts are screaming at me that those two have more to offer than the average human. I'll keep that thought to myself for now, at least until I have supporting evidence.

I let myself tune in again and reach out to my cussing Cajun. I abruptly realize that I don't know how to _summon_ him. Awkward…

"_Um, Mr. Cajun voice in my head…are you still there_?"

Smooth like silk, that's me.

I hear a chuckle in my head and feel a rush of relief that I haven't lost this strange but somehow necessary connection to the outside world.

"_I am here, cheri. But you, you are in a bad way. Three Mile Island, it is no place for mon petit chaton. Are you in a safe place, cheri?"_

"_Um, not really. We're in a base and they want me to cure cancer by the end of the week, which I can't do by the way, but I implied I could to buy us time because I really do think they'd kill me if they realized that I'm not much use to their plan and I don't even know what day it is so I don't really know how much time I have because I passed out for a while because they tased me which sucked and then threw me in the Trouble Truck and then hit me in the head with a rifle butt and then punched me and then I passed out from dehydration and I still don't feel good and I'm scared. Help?"_

That was the most bizarre mental rant I have ever had. I really hope this Cajun guy is real because it's kinda nice to be able to talk to someone else in my head and only have one person hear my crazy at a time.

I feel suddenly overcome with rage, worry and a fierce desire to protect. It takes me a moment to realize that these emotions are not coming from me, but from my unknown Cajun and I can't help but feel comforted by his desire to defend me.

"_Ma petit, this is no good. I will get some help and get you out. You said 'we.' There are other mutants with you, cheri?"_

I smile to myself at his decisive response and don't bother to spare a thought at what this might look like to the other three corporeal people with me right now. That secret is _out_; I'll deal with the fall out after I've arranged the getaway car.

"_Yes, Mystique and Magneto are here but they were 'cured' so I don't think they'll be much help at this point. There's the mutant they want me to help, Wade and they keep calling him Weapon IX or Deadpool." _

"_Mon dieu, Weapon IX lives? How is this possible…no matter. You must stay away from him, ma fée, he is very dangerous. You must not help him. He was created to hunt and destroy mutants. He will hurt you!"_

I look at Wade. He just looks like a regular puppy on meth to me. His glittering brown eyes are watching me with an innocent curiosity that I really don't think he should be capable of. I'm not stupid. I know those muscles aren't just for show and he did say earlier that his weapon of choice is a katana. Still, a mutant hunter? I wonder if that was the programming he spoke of earlier. Is that what the Weapon IX program is all about? Creating a super mutant to hunt down and kill the rest of us? Holy Shit!

"Holy Shit!"

I say that out loud and it echoes in the cavernous concrete tomb.

"Who are you talking to?" Wade asks, his head cocked to the side like the RCA dog. So cute!

I hazard a glance at Erik and Mystique and briefly wonder how long I've been the center of attention. The thought is quickly chased away by my Cajun's warning. Seconds ago, I hadn't seen a single thing wrong with helping Wade get a grip but now… I don't know.

What if by getting him "back on line", it really means that the Weapon IX programming will kick back in again. Can I run the risk of trying to help him, only to have him turn on the three of us? The reason behind Erik and Mystiques presence suddenly hits me like a fist to the gut.

After I "fix" Wade, they'll want to test him out. And who better to cut him loose on than two of the world's most notorious anti-human mutant crusaders. Oh my god. They're here as lab rats; pigs for the slaughter. My nausea from earlier returns in a rush and my head throbs with the reality of our situation.

I turn away from Wade and rest my head in my hands. How has this become my life? Seriously, my six-figure student loans sound like a dream compared to this. I wish I could take comfort in the idea that I simply _can't_ cure Wade, but the fact is; I just might.

There is such a thing as sonic surgery, my mutation is founded in the control and manipulation of sound waves and, given enough motivation, I might actually be able have an impact on the tumors. I don't know how much and I don't know how long it would last before new metastasized cells take the place of the old ones but…still. I could do this.

"Hey…hey, firefly?" Wade grabs my arms and tries to make eye contact. As much as I like looking at him, I don't know if I can right now.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay, okay? We'll figure this out. Everyone talks to themselves every once in a while. It doesn't mean you're crazy, right? I mean…well…it might but you seem pretty normal for a mutant. Uhh, I mean, you _are_ just talking to yourself, right?"

I look up to see Wade eyeing me warily and Erik has started to chuckle. I would laugh with him but I know why he's here and suddenly nothing is really that funny to me.

"The Weapon IX program was meant to create a mutant hunter."

There, I said it. As predicted, the room is silent and Wade takes a step back.

"Who the fuck _are_ you talking to?"

Wade looks nervous now but not in the way that makes me think he's been caught being naughty. Oh, Oh! Poor baby.

"Wade, I'm not a telepath." (I think?)

"Oh, well umm, that's good then."

"Wade?"

"Yeah?" Baby still looks so nervous. I don't blame him.

"Is that what the Weapon IX Program is for? Mutant hunting?"

He breaks eye contact and starts to walk backward, away from me. The hurt in his eyes is plane and it breaks my heart.

"You're not going to help me, are you?" He sounds resigned and I just…can't do that to him.

"I am going to help you, if I can. I guess what I'm really asking is, if this does work, and I do help you, does that mean your 'programming' is going to kick in and you'll kill us?"

"What?! No! No, I'm not going to hurt you. You get me back on line and I'll get us four the fuck _out_ of here and that's it. I won't let them reactivate my programming. I just won't. I like mutants. Mutants are fun. Mutants are cool. Some of them are really hot like you and Mystique; though I do prefer you when you're blue (he turns to Mystique for that and she smiles and winks). I don't want to hurt my own kind. Actually, now that I look at you two, why the hell are you here?"

"I believe our young lady has figured that out before the rest of us." Erik gestures to me to explain. Fine!

"I think Sanders brought them here for you to kill in your practice run after your programming has been reactivated. I think they'll keep me alive long enough to make sure the cancer is really gone and that you are under control and then they'll order you to kill me, too."

Wade looks positively heartbroken at my announcement while Erik only nods his head in agreement with my assessment of our situation. Mystique, on the other hands, looks pissed. Like, rip someone's heart out, stomp on their corpse with Alexander McQueen stiletto's _pissed_. Hmm, it's a good look on her.

"You're hot when you're angry."

Really?! Out of all the comments I've kept to myself today, that's the one I let slip. Typical.

Wade barks out a laugh while Erik actually seems to snicker behind his hand, desperate to hide the smile that's forcing its way across his lips. I wait for my inevitable death by small, seemingly innocuous object, but it doesn't happen. I realize that I've closed my eyes and tensed up for the death blow and recognize how ridiculous that is. Tensing up will only make it hurt more.

I look up at Mystique to see her actually fighting back laughter. Oh thank goodness. Looks like I'm not going to die…yet.

"Anyway," I blurt out, hoping to avoid more ridiculousness (unlikely). "I'll give it my best shot but I really haven't done anything remotely like healing with my mutation and this place isn't exactly the Zen atmosphere in which I'm used to working with my abilities. As for who I'm talking to…well, I'm not telling…so…so there!"

I take the moment to turn back to my Cajun.

"_Really dude, what the heck is your name. I really need to stop calling you 'my Cajun'." _

"_Ah, ma petit. You call me 'my Cajun'? I like that you have claimed me already. Perhaps, I will not give you my name and you will have to keep doing so, hm? Non? Well then, I am __Rémy__, __Rémy LeBeau. But you can call me Gambit, ma cheri." _

**French Translations:**

cheri = darling

mon petit chaton = my little kitten

ma petit = my baby

mon dieu = my god

ma fée = my fairy

Non = no


	8. Chapter 8

A gift for my followers, reviewers and favorites! Thank you so much for reading and keep reviewing! It keeps me motivated.

Here's a game: when you review, try to catch all the movie/tv show references I make!

Enjoy

* * *

Chapter 8

Gambit, huh? Sexy. Weird, but still sexy.

"_Well…Gambit. Nice to meet you. I'm Cayden."_

"_The pleasure is all mine, ma cheri. Tell Gambit now, does ma petit have another name? A mutant name?" _

Good question! No.

"_Nope, never really had the need for a call sign. Tell you what though. If you really do pull off this jail-break and we all make it out of here alive, you can definitely do the honors of naming me. How does that sound?" _

I can practically feel him grinning, clearly pleased with the proffered reward. It's strange. I don't know him, or anything about him really, but something tells me that he's one of the good guys. It's the same kind of intuition that lets me know that Erik and Mystique aren't out of this fight, yet. I try to pay more attention to that feeling and as my focus narrows I begin to realize that the "intuition" has more substance to it than I originally thought. At first, it's barely perceivable but as my attention tightens, so does the image? No, it's not an image its…it's a sound!

The sound begins to intensify and with it comes a rhythm. The beat is quick, light and energetic. I hear…holy shit, I hear music. Why the hell do I hear music? It feels incredible on my raw senses. I hadn't realized how tired I am until now and this music feels like rain after a long, brutal drought. I chase the sound, wanting it louder, wanting it to fill my mind and…

I'm suddenly shaken out of my hyper-focus by a strong grip on my face. Wade has both hands pressed firmly to my cheeks, nearly squashing my mouth into fish-lips. My eyes focus sharply on his and he seems to realize what he's done, a grin forming on his own mouth. Punk! I feel him squeeze a bit more and his lips begin to unconsciously mimic mine. There's only one thing to be done about this. I sucker punch him in the stomach.

"Oomph."

"Just say no to fish-lips."

I follow this up with a pout and crossed arms. He smiles widely at me and I can't help but return it.

"What was that about?" I ask Wade.

He glances over to Erik and I am once again struck by how little attention I've been paying to the three of them. That's just bad form on so many levels. It's stupid of me to think that I'm safe enough in this room with these three…questionable characters to give so much free rein to my internal world.

"You were staring off into space again. Seriously, I'm going to start getting jealous here. Am I not enough for you? I can change! I can be a better man. Really just give me a chance. I swear! I can do this thing with my tongue you wouldn't beli…"

I slap my hand over his mouth, already expecting him to lick my palm like the four-year-old boy he is.

He does.

I suffer through it and raise a Spock-brow at him. I can do it. I'm a Trekkie. He seems impressed by my staying power and settles in for my explanation.

"Wade, darling. It's not you…it's me. There's…there is someone else. But it's not your fault! He's…he's…going to get some help and break us out of here. In the mean time, we all need to play along with the Wonder Twins and do our best to look like properly defeated mutants."

The relief on Wade's face is quickly replaced by confusion and then, to my surprise, irritation and the jealously he warned me about just moments before. Adorable!

"So, there is someone else. Is this where you've been when you 'go out with the girls.' Honestly, what does he have that I don't, huh? How's he gonna break us out of here if he doesn't even know where we…oh, right. I told you where we are and you told him. That makes sense. Fine. FINE! He can break us out but that doesn't mean I'm giving up on our love, firefly. I am a man of my convictions and I am convicted to you!...That sounded funny, why did that sound funny?"

I am cracking up by the end of his rant and can't muster the air to point out the difference between convictions and commitments. Erik and Mystique do not appear to be in any mood to help him and Mystique instead focuses here attention on me. Oops.

"Okay. So you've been communicating with someone on the outside, you've given them our location and they have agreed to help break us out. In the mean time, we play along with Dumb and Dumber; Erik and I playing the helpless 'cured' mutants while you do your…think with Wade and attempt to make some progress on his condition. Is that an accurate summary?"

I nod. She's scary. I feel like I should salute, stand at attention, bend over and cough…something.

"Very good. So, who is this individual you've been talking to and why did you start humming the last time you zoned out?"

Humming? I don't remember humming.

"His call sign…handle…whatever is Gambit? And I didn't know I was humming. I just realized I could hear music and was trying to figure out where it was coming from."

"My dear, there is no music in this retched room. Just us and this _antique_ equipment."

Erik looks genuinely offended that the digs aren't more upscale and I honestly can't blame him. If I'd worked my whole life to be a super villain I would expect people to shell out the appropriate cash to capture and kill me.

"However, you have managed to contact a fairly competent mutant when it comes to this particular mission, as he is the only one to have ever escaped Three Mile Island while it was still in operation. He may also have some powerful connections which bode well for us. I would imagine he wasn't pleased to hear of the resurrection of this particular program?"

While Erik is talking, he seems to take particular interest in examining Wade. He walks around the muscular man, eyeing him with a critical gaze. What the hell? I know Wade's pretty but this kind of blatant eye-fucking is a little intense for me. Should I be jealous? I realize that Erik must be wondering if "programming" included any metal implants. Can he sense them? What does that _mean_? How can he sense them if he's been 'cured'? Why am I assuming there _are_ implants? I don't really know what to do with it so I fall back on my #1 coping skill: talking.

"Uh, no. He wasn't that excited about the prospect, I'll have to admit. Glad to hear he's the right mutant for the job though. That's cool. Really cool, actually. You said he was here before? How long ago was this program first started? This is so weird. How do I make a connection with the one mutant on the planet that would know how to get us out of here? I'm not even a telepath. I don't have a clue how I'm even talking to this guy. Well, I guess it didn't start out as talking. It started out more like a…presence. Yeah, a presence, and then some emotions, and then talking, and now music which I still don't get and…"

"You two have the same disease."

Mystique is clearly annoyed with my rambling and turns away from us to prowl around the room. Probably looking for something to make a bomb out of …a toilet paper roll, band aids, eyebrow wax…who knows?

Wade turns to me, giving me an odd look before asking. "Disease? Is it sexually transmitted? Have we _met_…before?"

He wiggles his eyebrows, with the most lecherous grin on his face and hops up on the hospital bed with me. Inching closer and nudging me with his broad shoulder.

"Baby, if we had, you'd remember."

He barks out another laugh and I can't help but notice how much I'm beginning to like that sounds. This guy needs some serious therapy, more medication than a zoo full of animals on a cargo ship and probably an adult-size body harness with retractable leash. Just my type. His eyes hold a strange mix of confidence and vulnerability, as if he's only sure of himself in very specific contexts.

I can certainly relate to that fragmented self-image. I remember being an athlete in college and feeling like a total badass on the field. But, when you put me in a dress and make up, suddenly all that confidence is gone and I feel like a kid trying to play in the big leagues. Nothing was more painful than being full of strength one minute, only to have it robbed from me the next when the circumstances changed. It was as if I knew who I was as an athlete but not as a woman.

It's becoming clear to me that Wade knows how to flirt and fuck, but not what to do in between, or when fucking isn't an option. He wants me to like him, but doesn't know how to present himself as anything other than a sex toy or a killer. If I were his therapist, I would say he needed some serious identity and integration work. However, I'm not his therapist, I'm his co-prisoner, so I keep these thoughts to myself and instead appreciate how much he and I have in common.

I wonder what would have happened had I been snatched up by some creeper like Stryker. Would I have turned out the same way Wade has? A killer, just a wing flap away from bat-shit crazy? Probably.

I take his warm hand in mine and close my eyes. Might as well start with the cancer curing business now. If I can get a "feel" for what I'm working with, I might have a better idea of how to go about this. I close my eyes and let the warmth of his hand seep into my skin. My focus begins to narrow again, like it did when I was listening to Gambit.

Side note: It's nice to have a name for that guy.

Wade has gone still beside me, probably realizing that I'm trying out some of my mutant voodoo on him. I wonder for a moment what I must look like from his perspective, holding his hand and staring at it as if it holds the secrets of the universe…or in this case, the secret to curing cancer. For a moment I can almost picture myself from his eyes, and then I hear it. The music is back, but it seems different than last time. The rhythm is different and the tones are more…gritty. This seems so much more fitting to Wade's personality than the playful jazz I was hearing before.

The music must be connected with the individual. I suppose it would make sense that my Cajun would be old school New Orleans jazz: spicy, sexy and full of life. Wade's music is much darker, sexy but much dirtier than Gambit's. There's a pounding base in the background and I get the impression that someone could definitely use this song as their sextrack (sex soundtrack). I realize I've heard this song before but I just can't place it. I try to hold on to the music and turn up the volume but I'm knocked out of my Zen when Wade suddenly jerks his hand nearly out of my grasp.

I look up prepared to apologize, mortified that I'd lost track so quickly and done something that most would consider invasive. I may not be a telepath but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that what I'm picking up on is extremely personal.

"Shit, Wade I'm…"

"It's okay, really. It just started to tickle. Kinda like my skin was vibrating. Uhhh, you were humming again. Sounded like a good song. What was it?"

I breathe out a laugh in pure relief. Tickles, huh? Good to know, I guess that means I'm making some progress, not that I know exactly why tickling would be a good thing but still, at least I'm not just perving on his brain-music.

"You tell me," I shoot back. "It was your song."

He looks intrigued by the notion.

"My song, huh? What does that mean? What were you doing? Not that I mind. It was kinda cool, actually. You looked…happy."

Happy?

"I don't really know what it means. I've worked really hard to stay off the mutant radar, not that it worked apparently, so I've never tried what I can do on other people. What I do know is that my mutation is grounded in sound, or sound waves to be more specific. I can generate and manipulate sound waves in simple or more complex ways."

"What?"

Dork

"I first realized I was different when I about 10-years-old. I was snapping my fingers, just for fun, and cracked a glass that was sitting on the table in front of me. I was lucky. I was a latch-key kid, parents worked and I took the bus after school, would do my homework and wait for Mom to come home.

Fortunately I had my mutation-manifesting emotional meltdown while Mom was at work. It took me a few more tries and a broken glass to realize that I could direct the "sound" of my snap at the glass. The sound waves focused into a force, like a mini sonic boom and broke the glass. When I snapped harder, it did more damage.

I tried snapping, whistling, humming, clapping…all with the same results. It took me years and more than one science class to realize that sound could be manipulated in more than one way. I was playing with volume…the speed at which the sound was traveling across space. But, I learned that I could also manipulate frequency, how high or low the sound was, or the speed at which the wave was vibrating.

Eventually I learned how to make an impact at a frequency too low or high for humans to hear making it look like I am telekinetic. Another science class taught me that atoms vibrate all the time, and movement in space creates sounds as long as it has something for the sound waves to travel on, like air. That's when I realize that I didn't have to be the one producing the sound waves.

I went back to practicing on glasses again, and learned how to make them 'sing' without ever touching them, like those people who 'play glasses'."

I've been talking the whole time without really looking at Wade or Erik. I expect that Wade's eyes have glazed over by now and am shocked to see genuine interest there, instead. Erik looks the intrigued and Mystique has rejoined us. I know both of them have already begun to calculate what damage we can cause with a mutation like mine.

"No wonder they tased you. You could take out a whole snatch-team with an ability like that and all you'd have to do was clap…or scream."

"Screaming is so dangerous, especially when it's fueled by fear and not just practicing. I could scream and take out every window and eardrum in 100 yards without even meaning to. Sure I could get away from my attacker but who knows what kind of collateral damage I could cause. Besides, I know they figured out that I'm a mutant from some blood work but they've already proven more than once that they have no idea what my mutation really is all about. They don't know what I can do. They were guessing. So the tasing was still rude and unnecessary."

Mystique nods her head in agreement and resumes her pacing, though I notice she has much more purpose in her step. Clearly, she's been motivated by the implication of my mutation, as has Erik. The move to another part of the room and begin talking in whispers, presumably formulating a plan of escape.

"It's really cool that you know the science behind your mutation. Knowledge like that makes you stronger than you could have ever been just guessing on your own."

Wade is looking at me with a kind of admiration and respect that I've never seen before. I've never explained what I can do to another person, much less another mutant. I don't know what I was expecting, but this isn't it. This time my smile is shy and all I can muster is a whispered _thanks_.

"So, wanna hold my hand and hum again?"

Talk about a tension breaker. What a goof!

"Sure thing, hot shot."

He offers up his hand again, wiggling fingers and all, and I have to chase it around a bit, trying to catch the flailing limb. Our laughter echoes across the room and the bed rocks ominously with our shifting and wriggling. Finally, I catch him, though I suspect it's more because he let me than because I was fast enough.

"Come on, baby bird. Give me another humming hand job."

"I never!" I squeak in mock-offence at the blatant sexual-reference and pinch his side in retaliation, gratified when he ducks away and begs for mercy. I settle back onto the bed with his hand in mine, filing away the fact that he's ticklish for another day.

Once again, I turn my attention back to his hand and listen for the music. It doesn't take long to catch the tune again and I'm pleases that knowing what I'm looking for seems to make the process go more quickly. Tracking the sound through is hand and into the rest of his body, I begin to realize that the music emanates from every part of him; his skin, his blood, his very bones. Incredible! This feels so suddenly intimate that I can't help the blush that rushes across my cheeks and down my chest.

"Pretty," I hear Wade murmur from a distance.

I don't know how much time I spend listening to the melody of Wade's body but eventually my focus begins to fray and I lose track of what I'm trying to do. Shaking my head, I pull myself out of my Zen place only to realize that Wade has long since fallen asleep and is drooling on my shoulder. I don't know why I expected anything different.

Erik and Mystique have given up their investigation and have taken seats on the cold concrete in the corner of the room furthest from the only entrance and exit. Safety first! With the last of my focus, I reach into my mind and call out for Gambit. Even my mental voice sounds exhausted.

"_Ma fée, how are you? You sound tired, non?" _

"_I'm okay,"_ I reply, whispering in my mind. _"Just not used to focusing this long and this hard. How are thing coming with the epic rescue?"_

"_Coming along, jus fine, ma petit. Gambit should be on his way ta ya shortly. Today es Thursday, by da way but I should be there to ya by tamarra afternoon." _

"_Hmm, thank you" _I reply in a sleepy purr._ "How come your accent changes?"_

"_Ah, yes. Depends on who Gambit haz ben talken to. Been talken to some Cajuns so de accent es thicker, oui? Do you like it mon petit chaton?"_

"_Hell yeah," _I reply, not really realizing what I'm saying._ "Itssexy." _

"_Will keep dat en mind. Sleep well, ma fée. Gambit will see ya tamarra."_

"_Night, night" _I mumble back, not sure it that last bit was in my head our out loud.

With that final statement, I lean down and arrange myself on the bed, absent mindedly yanking Wade with me. After a bit of shoving and more than one "accidental" boob-grab, Wade and I are situated well enough the thin mattress, he on his back and me tucked into his side. Just as I drift off to sleep I hear Wade whisper,

"Good night, princess."

I smile and kiss his chest without really realizing what I'm doing.

Good grief, he's warm. I could get used to this.


	9. Chapter 9

The reviews keep on coming! You guys are wonderful! Truly motivating and inspiring! Thank you for your support, suggestions and questions. Today I am sick and because of all your warm feedback and the time and effort you have put into your messages, the only thing I want to do today is write! Keep 'em coming!

So, without further ado, Chapter 9 and the meeting you've all been waiting for between our three loquacious lovelies!

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Chapter 9

No sooner than I fall asleep do the Wonder Twins make their entrance. The door slams open, startling me and Wade. I jerk, nearly tip off the tiny bed but am saved by Wade's arms tightening around me in an instinctive reaction to the interruption. Were it up to him, I bet Wade would have me in one arm and his sword in the other. I watch the fingers of his left hand clench and unclench for a moment and am grateful that he doesn't seem to have some kind of reflexive, kill-the-person-next-to-you reaction when disturbed from his sleep. It's seems right to express my gratitude.

"Thanks for not killing me."

It comes out as a whisper but Erik and Mystique both snort at my statement. Wade one-arm hugs me and moves to help me sit up from our awkward position.

"I wouldn't kill you, pocket-rocket. Totally should have gone for the reflexive ass-grab though. Can't _believe_ I missed that opportunity!"

Typical. I am stopped from further snarking by Sanders and the Commandos Four who somehow feel it's appropriate to invade our personal space by surrounding the bed. I wonder if there the same guys as before. Wade's skin is still sleep-warm and I spare a moment to wonder how long we've been out.

"I'm so glad you two have cozied up together. Working relationships and all. However, we are operating on a timeline. Report on your progress."

Sanders is glaring at us. I suppose it would be intimidating if not for the glassy eyes, receding hairline and the small bit of his dinner stuck to his right cheek. I would bet money that everyone knows it's there and none of them are going to tell him. Ha! Serves him right. Report on my progress huh? I'm sure he'd _love_ to know I can hear music…not.

"Okay, report, um…I'm freaking tired. You interrupted my nap; I don't even know how much sleep I got before you came barging in here scaring the crap out of me. You don't even know what could have happened! Wade could have like…broken my face or something without even knowing it and that is soooo not how I want to die. You have food on your face, which is gross, by the way. Janet! Really, you should have told him. Don't even pretend like you didn't know. I know you did because you have that guilty look on your face, like someone who's just been caught and I kinda think it's funny. Do you have a husband or a boyfriend named Brad? Is he a…Major?"

Wade has curled back up on his side, laughing like he's going to wet himself. He's so far gone he's not even making noise anymore, just struggling for air and turning bright red. I wonder if he'll snarf? Janet really _does_ look embarrassed and equally confused by my question. Some people just don't have an appreciation for fine cinema.

But, it's Sanders that takes the cake. As soon as I mentioned it, he started swiping at his face like a deranged kitten, cleaning itself. I'm waiting for him to lick his paws and try again. All the while he's glaring at Janet and it seems like he's so angry at her for not saying something that he's completely forgotten to be angry with me for my petulant monologue.

The Commando's Four have taken a hesitant step back, as if worried about what Wade might do while overcome with laughter. It's not like he's going to explode or something…I think?

"Get the fuck back to work. You've had enough rest."

Now that's just plain unnecessary. I just finished explaining that I _haven't_ gotten enough sleep. Men! They never listen…Sanders turns and makes his way back to the only door in or out of or giant cell block and Janet + 4 quickly follow. I _cannot_ believe that that's all it takes to throw them off-balance.

Janet turns back to me just before the door closes and calls back in the most offended voice she can muster:

"My name is _not_ Janet and my boyfriends name is _Daniel_."

Oh...my...GAWD!

Who says that!

Due to a combination of exhaustion, anxiety and shock I cannot be held responsible for my actions following _Janet's_ departure. The giggles start first, soft but uncontrollable. Next comes outright laughter, so strong my stomach starts to cramp and my face aches. The blood is rushing to my face and I swear I can feel the vain pulsing in my forehead. And then…it happens. I can't stop it, even if I wanted too. I can barely breathe and the only option other than passing out is to try breathing through my nose…_fail_!

The snort is epic, not just because of how loud or long it is, but because it happens more than once. I laugh all that much harder and eventually curl up into the fetal position snorting and laughing. I can best describe the noise I make as something similar to a seizing donkey. _Humiliating_

Eventually I calm myself down and take stock of my remaining audience. Wade has clearly been laughing at me, if the flush of his cheeks and tear tracks down his face are anything to go by. But, it's the look on Mystique's face that I will forever consider my greatest accomplishment. She looks positively undone. Having never bothered to get up from her position on the floor when Sanders & Co. entered, she was in prime position to appreciate my impromptu performance.

She has curled her body into Erik's side, face partially hidden in his shoulder and, I kid you not, she is peaking over his arm, pointing at me and trying desperately to conceal her full bodied gaffes.

"You…you…snarfed!" she announces, before dissolving into giggles.

_Mystique said snarf,_ I think to myself, and I'm off again.

"_Ma fée, you should be sleeping, non?"_

Excellent timing.

"_M'okay," _I think, not at all surprised at how difficult it is to focus in this state. _"We're just enjoying some stress induced hysteria. How's things on your end?"_

"_Well enough, ma petit. It has only been two hours since Gambit last spoke ta ma belle."_

Though his words are mild, I can hear the concern in his voice and feel it emanating across our strange connection.

"_Ya must gather as must rest as ya can, bébé. Dis es not goin'ta be an easy ting. Ya need ta be quick an sharp as ya can."_

"_We'll do our best to be ready…Um, actually, I have a question?" _

"_Oui?"_

"_This is kind of embarrassing, really. I bet you're a total badass, like the king of badasses really. I mean, Erik already said you're the only mutant to escape this place when the project was up and running so I bet you've got a Ph.D in Sexy Ninja Awesome (_he starts laughing at me_). The thing is, I…um…I'm not much of a…well…let's just say I'm more of a Clydesdale than a Thoroughbred. Not much of a sprinter you see, or a marathon runner. More of a…spectator? What I mean is, well, oh fuck, what I mean is, if the success of this rescue hinges on my ability to run fast or far, I might as well stay behind."_

I can tell that my face has turned bright red and I'm, once again, completely mortified at my inability to compel my body to move in ways that seem to come so easily to others, especially other mutants. I take a deep breath, prepared to apologize for being the inconvenience I've always been and perhaps come up with my own exit strategy. After all, it's the Weapon IX program that we need to shut down. I'm just…here…collateral damage…not that import…

"_Ma petit! Don be silly, Gambit does not run off, half-cocked to rescue the damsel in distress, only to leave ma beauté behind. Whatever you can do will be enough, oui? Besides, Gambit may not be the King of Badasses, as ya say, but I am the Prince of Thieves. An make no mistake, ma fée, I am coming to steal you, the rest are just lucky to be nearby for the rescue."_

Oh man, I think I'm in love.

"_You are my hero."_ I whisper back, mentally gasping in gratitude and relief and some other emotion I can't even begin to describe.

No one has ever made me feel so at peace with my own limitations so quickly. Even at the height of my college athletic career, I was the slowest; always a specialist and never, _ever_ a "true athlete." Toward the end of my career, I'd lost track of how many times I'd come through in the game, only to be slammed for my "lack of conditioning" the next day. No one ever cared about what I could do. They only cared about my sprint time, my max reps and weight...how I looked in my uniform. I'd lost hope that someone would ever see me as useful or effective if I didn't look like a comic book super-babe.

"_I certainly hope so, ma cheri. After all, Gambit es only really goin to all dis effort cuz he wants da kiss at de end. He sees in all da fairy tales…"_

I can practically hear the smirk in his voice and get the sense that he is quite satisfied with his little game. Still floating in the pleasure of his openly complimentary and flirtatious style, I up the ante.

"_My darling, sexy, spicy Cajun. Get us out of here and you can name my first-born!"_

His laugher tickles my senses and I curl my body into the feeling, even though it's all in my head. I imagine I look like a cat, arching up into a petting hand.

"_Ma petit. Gambit will hold ya to dat. Now, ta bed wit ya and know dat your Prince es on his way." _

With that, I turn my attention back to Wade and update my three unlikely companions on the plans for our rescue. Erik and Mystique seem pleased with the turn of events while Wade looks more contemplative. I remember his semi-feigned jealously and wonder how he would handle knowing the pleasantly flirtatious nature of my conversations with Gambit. Guilt creeps up on me for a moment before I shove it down.

Both of them are naturally outrageous flirts. That much is obvious. I'm sure neither of them means anything by it. Wade is just playing at jealously for the entertainment of it and Gambit is playing the role he's found himself in. The only way this could go badly is if I make something out of nothing. My mental pep talk has left me oddly depressed and, as I turn back to Wade, who's waiting patiently for me to lie back down, I find myself suddenly shy.

I lay down on my side, tucked into his firm torso. Where is this boy's shirt?! All the comforting and affectionate gestures that have come so easily to me have suddenly become weighted with doubt. I curl up, trying my best not to touch him but my efforts are for not.

As soon as my body hits the mattress, Wade reaches over and half lifts, half drags me over until I am practically lying on top of him. With one arm under my head and the other holding me to him by my waist, Wade completes his adjustments with a final little shimmy and promptly falls back to sleep.

Freaking adorable

Finally, I surrender myself to Wade's will and the exhaustion that suddenly hits me like a Mack Truck. My last thought before sleep claims me is something like this…

_I hope Sanders doesn't lay an egg tomorrow over our lack of 'progress'…haha, get it…lay an egg…Damn it Janet, I am one funny bunny. _

The first thing I notice is an incredibly loud siren. It's really quite horrible and I am suddenly filled with the undeniable urge to kill whoever made that device with that particular frequency.

All at once, the siren stops and I blink. Did I do that?

Wade is up and off the bed faster than a jack rabbit and I would take it personally if it weren't for the obviously hostile situation about to erupt.

"_Gambit?" _I call out in my mind._ "Is this you?"_

Silence

What the fuck? What is this?

The four of us gather in the corner nearest the door and to the blind side, waiting for the commando's to rush in and "subdue" us. However, after some waiting and no further sign of disruption, it becomes clear that, whatever is going on, we are not of primary concern.

Excellent

That means I'm less likely to get shot or tased in the near future. Still, this wasn't part of the plan. There's no way Sander's would have let us sleep through the night and into Friday afternoon and Gambit would have warned me if he were going to show up early. This doesn't bode well for our getaway plans.

"_Gambit!"_ I try again and this time with a little more force.

I immediately regret it as I feel his pain echoing across our connection. Fuck. The last think I wanted to do was hurt him.

"_Ma fee, what is wrong? Are you well?" _

I can feel his grogginess through the connection. I must have woken him up, which means it's the middle of the night and whatever is going on, it's not part of Gambit's escape script.

"There are sirens going off here. I thought it might be you before I realized how early it is. I don't know what's going on but something feels…not good."

"_Sit tight ma petit. Gambit will call de others. We are on de way. Some will just have ta meet us der." _

I push my understanding through the link, too afraid to make much noise. How long will we have to wait? Looks like we're going to have to stall…but for how long? We still don't know what the hell is going on. I recall the siren and my wonder of whether I was the one to silence it.

_It's worth investigating,_ I think to myself and reach out my sense to find the source of that retched sound. It doesn't take me long to locate the source. The speaker is dormant for now and there's nothing about it that suggests to me that I was the one to shut down the sound.

Okay, then why did it stop?

Reaching out further, I listen for sounds beyond the concrete walls. At first it's all a jumble. Footfalls, guns cocking, someone shouting orders; all the sounds are mixed together, no single source is discernible from another. I need a focal point, I realize. I need to search for a specific voice…Sanders!

Reaching out again, I search the compound for Sanders' voice, moving from source to source, room to room until I hear the familiar tones. He's clearly upset about something but his one-sided shouted orders are giving me little to work with in the way of reconnaissance. Just as I begin the tedious work of picking out the other voices in the room, a loud explosion rocks the compound.

With all my senses extended in the direction of what must be the control room, the explosion hits me as if I were standing right next to it. The force throws me across the room and I land with a sick thud on the unforgiving floor. My ears are ringing and blackness tugs at my mind. The pain is beyond comprehension, so intense that I barely feel anything at all.

Wade's face fills my vision and, though I can see him talking to me, I hear nothing. Had this never happened before, I would be certain I'm deaf. Sensory overload, and nothing to be done for it but wait it out. For now my mutation is FUBAR and all I can do is lay on my back, staring at Wade, waiting until I can refocus on the sounds in the room with me.

After a spell, my hearing returns like the volume on a stereo being turned up, notch by notch.

"I'm okay, I'm okay" I whisper, careful not to overload my recovering hearing.

Wade looks terrified.

"What the fuck was that? One second you're next to me and the next you go flying across the room like fucking ghost busters. What the fuck!"

I reach out to touch his face in an attempt to sooth his worry, only to notice that my hands are shaking, badly. Side effects of sensory overload: adrenaline surplus, temporary loss of hearing, disorientation, confusion, and…backlash.

Oh shit.

"Wade, hit the deck."

"What?"

I grab Wade and pull him to the floor, hoping that Erik and Mystique follow our example. I can feel the pulse building in the center of my chest. I sit up, wishing I could brace my hands on the floor but settle for sitting up on my knees, instead.

"Cayden…what's going…"

Wade never gets to finish his sentence. The pulse has grown beyond my capacity to contain it. The unstoppable sound of my racing heart beat. The first sound of life; the first sound I ever made. The beat fills the room, a sickening parody of Poe's, _The Raven._ Faster and faster it goes until the sound has blended together into one, intense hum of power. And then, like a snapped rubber band, the sound rushes out from my chest, 360 degrees in a flat slice across the room. As the sound pushes against the air, the wave front expands until the sonic boom slams violently into the four walls surrounding us. Had it a shape, it would look like the bottom of a mushroom cloud rushing out to devour everything in its path.

The walls crack with the impact, the door flies off its hinges and into the hallway, bent in half and utterly irreparable. Holy shit! It's never been _that_ bad. I turn to Wade, hoping to offer some kind of explanation when I hear that familiar Cajun cadence.

"Ma fée, ma fée? Are you alright?"

It takes me a moment to understand that the sweet voice is no longer just in my head. How did he get here so fast? I wonder how long I was down after the explosion…and how long I had been searching the compound for sounds? It's one of the weaknesses of my mutation that diving into it causes me to lose time. I can never tell how long I've been "in it" unless I set an alarm or put out a stop watch.

"I'm okay." I whisper back. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

No one seems willing to argue with me and prepare to head toward the now door-less entryway. A gorgeous man with shoulder-length chestnut hair and glowing red eyes is standing above me, just to the right of Wade. The concern on his face is comforting and I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.

"Fuck, you _are_ hot. I knew it!"

His concern quickly turns to a rakish grin and Wade jumps up to face the newcomer.

"You!" He yells, voice filled with shock and not a little bit of hostility. "You…you're…_HIM_!"

Gambit is clearly not impressed.

"Ya must be de defective mutant des fools brought ma petit here ta heal."

The two of them immediately begin to posture and I am reminded of peacocks, spreading their tail feathers and squawking at one another.

"Defective? Defective!" Wade growls. It sounds way sexier coming from him than it did from Sanders….Sanders!

"Uh, guys...can we go now. Escape now, chat later? Yeah?"

The two quickly refocus and both offer me a hand. I'm grateful that I have two hands to offer back and allow them both to lift me off the cold floor. As soon as I'm upright, a wave of dizziness washes over me and I sag, heading back to the floor at an alarming catches me and I grip a powerful shoulder for support. The bare skin lets me know that Wade got to me first. Eager to avoid another cock-fight, I intervene.

"Wade, can you use any of your added abilities?'

"No," he replies with a regretful tone. "I have a bunch of new abilities but if I use any of them the cancer starts to metastasize at an accelerated rate. That includes rapid healing so I'd really prefer not to take a hit."

He looks embarrassed to admit this and Gambit glares at him, clearly annoyed and Wade's seeming "uselessness."

"Okay, you help me out, Gambit, please lead the way. Erik? You and Mystique ready to go?"

Two murmured accents and we are moving toward the door. Gambit takes point, pulling out what appears to be a deck of playing cards. I also notice a staff strapped to his back and have to wonder, what can this guy do?

I can hear a firefight off in the distance…more like one group is firing and the other is…ass-kicking? I hear what sounds like swords or knives, crackling that reminds me of ice forming, and other sounds that escape my comprehension.

"Who all did you bring on this merry adventure?"

Gambit turns back and smiles.

"Just a few friends, ma fée. You'll meet them later. We have one exit strategy and they have another."

I wonder what he means by that and I can't help but peek back down the corridor where I assume the fight is taking place. I can see nothing but blue smoke and wonder what kind of grenade that is. The four of us follow Gambit out of the compound and onto a decrepit looking helipad. A sleek black jet sits there, waiting for us to enter and I can't help but appreciate our stylish exit.

"Are you sure they're going to be okay?"

"Oui, ma petit. By da time we got here, someone else had already done quite a bit o damage to da facility an its security. Whoever triggered da initial alarm dat ya told Gambit about was long gone by da time we got here. It was relatively easy ta get in. Finding _you_ was da difficult part until Gambit hears dat explosion. Ya must tell Gambit what dat was, ma beauté. It came from you, non? And, Gambit es eager ta take ya up on me prize so he must know all he can about what you can do…"

His grin is sharp and I realize that he's taken the opportunity to goad Wade once more.

"Gambit blah, _blah_ blah, _Gambit_. Who talks about themselves in the third person." Wade is grumbling to himself while Gambit recounts his the tale of his arrival.

Is this Gambit's retaliation for not being the one to help me out? What's this about? Are they really both going to continue with this game? _Whatever_, I don't have the energy to deal with this.

"What? What prize? He gets a prize? I want a prize! Come on, that's not fair. I've been really good, haven't I? I've been funny and nice and sexy and a pillow and…"

"A pillow!"

Wade grins at Gambit's obvious distaste. Guh, whatever.

"Who's going to fly this thing?" I grump.

"We will." That's Mystique. "You handle Romeo and Juliet. Erik and I will get us of this ghastly island."

I roll my eyes and make my way to the back of the jet where the rear door hangs open. We file in quickly and I settle into one of the chairs, quickly fastening my own seatbelt before the two boys can fight over the "honor." Wade takes his seat, appearing to be somewhat put out by my frosty behavior. I immediately feel guilty.

It's not his fault he can't fight. I can only imagine how frustrating it would be for him to be so capable and skilled and be able to use none of it because someone fucked with his genetics. I turn to Gambit, wanting to see him to his seat when gunfire breaks out behind us.

Shit!

I reach down to unbuckle my belt and try my hand at defense when I see something begin to glow out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head and see Gambit, holding one of his playing cards which now glows a beautiful, vibrant red to match his eyes. He turns to me and winks, red lightning crackling across the enchanting orbs before flinging the card out the back of the jet, toward the compound. The card impacts the concrete wall and explodes as if it were a missile.

"That is fucking cool." I breathe.

Gambit chuckles and takes his seat. Mystique works the controls to close the door and the jet's engines roar to life.

"Where to?" Mystique asks.

"You know where, mademoiselle. Now, ma cheri, tell Gambit about des gifts so he may name you appropriately."

I can't help but smile at his childlike delight.

"Douche bag."

Oh Wade…

* * *

**New French Translations:**

belle = beautiful

bébé = baby

beauté = beauty

* * *

**Author's note: Who do you want to be part of the rescue party? I know I've placed some hints and I can add some more upon request!**


	10. Chapter 10

Hello wonderful reviewers, followers and favoriters! After a bit of a holiday break. I'm back and ready to roll! Thank you all for your support and continued interest. I'll keep the chapters coming! Here we go…

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Chapter 10

I take a breath and a moment to reach out and pat Wade's hand. He's really been such a good sport about this, all things considered. He's clearly not used to being the damsel in distress and doesn't know quite how to handle not taking an active role in the rescue. He seems immeasurably pleased when I touch him and I have the feeling it's because I touched _him_ and _not_ Gambit. Guh, boys!

Repeating the story I'd already told Wade, Mystique and Erik took up much of our flight time. Gambit is attentive and asks a number of questions. It becomes clear to me that he's used to watching and even helping mutants develop their abilities. Never once does he ask me "How did you do that?" and almost always asks instead "How did it feel when you did that?" or in his Cajun case: "How did et feel when ya did dat?"

God, I less than three this man's accent! He seems to know it too because there aren't any other Cajuns on this plane but I'm sure that accent is getting thicker and thicker. Gambit's about ready to ask another question when Wade' jumps in. I'm surprised he lasted this long.

"How were you going to use your ability to help me?"

"Oh! Ummm, well. I'd need to consult a medical doctor about my theory before I actually tried it but…"

"Wait? You were going to ask Janet?"

"What? No! Hell no. Not Janet, damn it! A reeeeeal doctor…"

"Ma petit, who es Janet?"

Wade and I look at each other and dissolve into giggles.

"Careful back there, hot-shot. Those two have the same random-ass association disease. You might catch it too if you're not careful."

Gambit is trying so hard to look curious but he's clearly annoyed, and probably for more than just being interrupted.

"Remy sees, he will be cautious. Now, ma _fée_. You were goin' ta help dis one? Remy warned ya, petit. He's dangerous. A mutant hunter."

"Hey fucker! I'm not a _mutant hunter_! I didn't choose this, alright? Besides, I'd never ever hurt Princess. She's been real sweet to me and she's funny and gets my sense of humor and no one _ever_gets my sense of humor. Usually I start talking and then people start getting mad and there was this one time when someone actually took a shot at me which was really stupid because I had my katana and I just cut the bullet in half because I'm a total badass and the shards hit two beer kegs that started spraying free beer everywhere which was totally awesome and we got to drink for the rest of the…"

"Mon dieu, does dis one ever shut up?"

"No" from Erik Mystique and me, though I'm the only one giggling like a loon.

"Not a mutant hunter? Really mousier? Tell us dis, how did you know Stryker…before the Weapon IX project?"

The jet went silent while we waited for Wade's answer and it quickly becomes clear that he doesn't intend to answer Gambit's questions. Uh oh…

"You know what," I intervene, not really interested in any tension after the last few day's we've all had. "It doesn't matter. Wade says he's not going to hurt us and I believe him so let's talk about something else."

"Ma _fée_, how can ya trus 'im? Ya only jus met, oui? Dis one could be part of dis 'ol plan!"

"Me?! Part of the plan, listen fart sniffer, I was a prisoner, just like everyone else in that fucked up concrete cage. And as for 'jus met,' she's only just met you too! Maybe you're part of the plan, huh! Maybe their whole deal was to get you in her head and be all perfect and charming and Canadian and trick us into going with you! Maybe you got out of there the first time around because you cut a deal!"

Gambit is up out of his seat with his hand around Wade's throat before anyone can blink.

"I . Am . CAJUN! Ya simple fuck!"

Really, that's what he gets upset about?

"Eh?"

Oh Wade, he really doesn't know when to stop.

"Gambit, let go of Wade and sit down."

He ignores me…not cute.

"GAMBIT! SIT THE FUCK DOWN!"

That was Mystique. She is soooo hot.

Gambit complies, which makes me a little jealous but I brush it aside in favor of checking Wade for injuries. I turn his head from side to side absently listening to Gambit cuss in at least six different languages. Impressive. Eventually I'm satisfied that there are only red marks on his throat and smooth my finger tips over the tender flesh, checking for anything out of place…like I would really know if I felt it.

Wade whimpers and I jerk my hand back and sit back down in my seat with a hard thump.

When had I unbuckled my seatbelt?

"Shit, I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No, no Princess. Don't stop now. Touch me all you want. I'll even share my seat, and my seat belt, just come on back over here and sit down, right on my lap. Don't mind the hard on, natural response…"

I head-slap him from the safe distance of my chair.

"Hey! Ouch!"

Gambit snorts.

"Oh, hush you big baby. You're fine. I thought I'd hurt you and there you go pretending to hit on me again!"

"And your solution was to hit me in the head? And, besides…who's pretending?"

I pointedly ignore that last statement. As my energy level continues to drop, I find the pretend flirting more and more exhausting. I'd love nothing more than to curl up in his arms at this moment and go to sleep, knowing I'm truly safe. But all this showmanship, like I could actually have that, is beginning to wear on my nerves. I'm not his type. I know that.

Guys like him don't go for girls like me. Guys like Gambit don't either. But they flirt. _God,_ do they flirt. Because it's safe. Just friendly banter with the "home girl." They'd never been so blatant with a woman they actually wanted. Look at how they treat Mystique. Neither of them has said much of anything to her. And that's because they're attracted to her and it makes them nervous.

But not me.

They're not nervous around me because they're not attracted to me which makes it so easy for them to flirt without any pressure. Fucking story of my life!

"Ma fée, I assure you I…"

I don't have the energy left to protect myself from the compulsory "I mean it" speech.

"I would prefer to check with a medical doctor before actually giving this a shot but I realized something while I was…listening to you. I don't think this Op was sophisticated enough to actually do gene therapy the way we do it today."

"What do you mean?"

"Today we would inject the target genetic material into a dormant virus and target the virus to deliver the new genetic material, letting it spread and thus, changing the person from the inside out. I don't get the impression that these guys knew how to do that with you.

"What I do think they did was somehow use some kind of tech to superimpose the new mutation your genetic structure. Like accessories. I think they did this with super tiny microchip thingies in your brain and all over the rest of your body.

"If I'm right, I might be able to focus a sound wave small and powerful enough to get them to break free and shut down. Once I've done that, you won't have the rapid healer stuff anymore but at least it won't freak out the cancer and then that might by operable."

"Holy shit" Wade whispered. "You are actually going to try and help me."

My heart breaks at the shock in his voice. Did he really believe I'd just let him die if there was something I could do to stop it?

"Baby, I'm going to do whatever I can to help. I just don't know enough on my own to do it safely. But, with the right consults and someone to confirm my theory, I think we can make this happen. To be honest, the part I'm most nervous about is learning how to focus sound waves like that. I've really never done it before. But, it needs to be done to save you so I'm gonna give you everything I've got. I just hope it's enough."

By the time I'm done with my speech, there are honest-to-god tears running down Wade's cheeks.

"Thank you" he whispers, reaching out and taking my hand once more.

"I will totally blow you whenever you want for this. Just so you know. I give as good as I get."

Argh!

I wrench my hand out of Wade's and take another swipe at his head, missing this time.

"Someone's uncomfortable with Hallmark moments." Mystique's snicker can be heard from the front of the plane, barely discernible from Erik's outright laughter.

"Alright party people, touchdown in five minutes. Prepare for landing. Please make sure all tray tables are stowed and your chairs are in the upright and locked position with seatbelts fastened. The flight attendants will be coming down the aisle one more time to pick up any trash you might have. Please be cautious when opening overhead compartments, as their contents may have shifted during the flight…shit could fall down and crack you in your dumbass head…WADE"

"Aw, and here I was about to compliment you on memorizing that entire speech. Jerkface"

"Nice comeback."

"Oh Princess, speaking of _come_backs, did you know I can…"

"If ya don stop talkin' to 'er like dat, I'ma gonta throw ya out dis dam plane, right now."

Oh myyy. George Tekai

"What's it like, having two grown men fighting over you like a bunch of two-year-olds with a Tonka truck?"

"I'll let you know when it's happening for real."

"Ma fée, really I…"

"Princess, baby, seriously I…"

"Brace for landing."

Mystique set the jet down with only a slight bump when the wheels touched the landing pad. Vertical take-off and landing, NICE!

"Oh yeah…where are we?"

"We are at the X-Mansion"

Oh. Where Xavier lives…used to live.

"Oh."

"Problem?"

"I don't know. It's just…I've always wondered what this place looked like. It's weird. Having been invited here and now that I _am_ here, he isn't."

"_He_? Another man? Really super trooper, how am I supposed to keep up?"

"If you lack the stamina, monsieur, no one will protest you dropping out of the race."

"Okay, Canada. Let me tell you about stamina. There was this one time with three girls and a lobster that…"

"He's Cajun. I'm Canadian. And as usual Wade, You talk to fuckin' much."

"Jamie?"

"Logan"

"Who are you?"

"He is an asshole with too many pointy things to play with."

I glance over at Mystique on that last one. Okaaaay, clearly everyone knows tall, dark and tank top but me. I unbuckle my seat belt and make my way down the ramp and on to the landing pad...basketball court. _Awesome_. Starting to seriously regret turning the Holy Roller down.

"Gumbo, where the hell d'ya dig this guy up? Last time I saw him, he was in a pretty bad mood…and then I kicked his ass."

"Dude! The last time you saw me, you cut of my head! That was freaking awesome!"

"Oh my god." Mystique face-palms.

"Come inside my dear. Let the servants sort themselves out."

"Go fuck yourself, you geriatric drama queen."

This Logan/Jamie/Asshole fella sure has a mouth on him.

I follow Mystique and Erik inside, vaguely wondering how long the bromance reunion will take before they notice they've been left behind. I can hear their banter through the entryway and have to smile to myself. I'm glad to see Wade around someone who _kinda_ likes him? Maybe since, Logan seems to know both of the boys, he won't let them kill each other. However, given first impressions, I'm more inclined to believe he'd egg them on and place bets.

"Are you hungry, my dear? The kitchens are right through here."

"Oh wow," I gasp. "Food is a fantastic idea."

Mystique seems caught up in some kind of nostalgia. Her gaze is wandering all over the halls and she makes no effort to hide the fact that she's peeking into rooms as we walk by. Has she been here before? Erik clearly has.

We make short work of some sandwiches and I down a glass or two of water like it's going out of style. Just as I stand up to take my plate to the sink, a large, furry blue person walks into the room…and I stare for a moment.

"Um…Mystique? Are you two related?"

"Related to wh…Hank."

"Really, you're a giant blue fuzz ball like something out of Monster's Inc. _and_ your name is Hank? You guys are blowin' my mind here. Like POW!"

"Well, it would seem we have visitors."

Oh, I didn't know Captain Obvious' first name is Hank.

"What brings you to our humble abode?"

"Humble? Really, cuz this place is like ginormous. However, to answer your question, we were rescued from Three Mile Island by Gambithood and his band of Merry Men. Well, at least I think they were merry. From the small bit I could see and hear, they seemed to be having a blast kicking the crap out of Colonel Sander's Goon Squad."

"Do you always speak in colloquialism?"

"Do you always sound like Fraiser?"

"Well, now that we've gotten the rhetorical questions out of the way, how about we head down to the infirmary to make sure there's no permanent damage from your captivity."

"You want to play doctor?"

"Well, you're a little young for me and my mate would hardly approve of such things so how about we skip the playing and just go for the real doctor stuff. My name is Dr. Hank McCoy?"

"Wait, wait, wait! You're Doctor McCoy? Like…what? And you somehow resist the urge to tell people your first name is Leonard? You have some serious self control! Alright Doctor McCoy, lead the way! I'll tell Captain Kirk we'll be on our way to the Orion Nebula as soon as we're done. Make it so! Oooh, ouch. Series crossover. Did it burn?

"Has this young lady suffered any head trauma?"

Mystique looks incredible amused by our interaction, as does Erik. He's sitting at the table, chin resting on his steepled hands with a mix of laughter and regret in his eyes. What is it with these two? They seem…homesick.

"Well, she was severely dehydrated, to the point of fainting, suffered two blows to the head, was tased during capture and overextended her ability and was launched across a room. Good news is, I think she's always this…chatty."

I grin at Mystique's description of events. I sound so hardcore!

"Well then, let's be on our way."

I follow Hank back out into the hallway and we make our way to the infirmary. Just as the elevator door is about to close I hear a frantic yell.

"Hey, Hey! Sunflower, love of my life, darling, Princess! Where are you going? Is this the other, other man? I can take him, I'm sure of it, just give me twenty minutes and a nuke. Holy shit is really big and really blue. Okay, I've got this. I can do this. I am..."

Wade looks positively jubilant when I hold the elevator door and gesture for him to come along.

"Come on, Monkey Boy. You need to get checked out too. You were in that hell hole longer than I was."

"Oooh, can we play doctor."

"You two have the same disease."

Hank just might be pressing the button for the bottom floor a little bit harder than necessary. I hope he doesn't have anger management issues. Someone who has a short fuse is not good to have around Wade.

"Why does everyone keep saying that? We can't have the same disease if we haven't had sex yet. Which I'm really looking forward to, by the way. You look like a total wildcat in the sack. It's always the quiet ones, you know. Not that you're quiet but still, you seem like the quiet type which is actually better than the actual quiet type. I think that makes you kinkier. I read it in a study somewhere. It's the not-quiet, quiet ones that always want it dirty. It was in, like…Cosmo or something. Totally credible source. Now all I have to do is take out the Jolly Blue Giant over there and that card-throwing Canadian mutherfucker up there and we're home free. I get it, you know, I'm not offended, a girl likes it when a man is willing to defend his territo…"

"Sweet baby Jesus, I need a sedative."

I go for it.

"Isn't it against the law for Doctors to write prescriptions for themselves?"

"Ha! Wait…He's a Doctor?"

"Yeah! Wade…get this…Please allow me the honor of introducing you to…Dr. McCoy!"

"What!?"

Wade bust's out the ta'al, shifting his fingers apart into the universal Vulcan sign for "Wazzup" and I fall in love with him a little bit for being able to do that…and knowing that it was the appropriate response to my joke.

"Please follow me to the infirmary and we'll get this examination over with as quickly as possible."

Wade snickers but I slap my hand over his mouth before he has the chance to comment further. Scary that I have to be the one with more self control. The room is covered from floor to ceiling tech and I think for a moment that I really am in the Enterprise Med Bay.

Hank pats the examination table and I hop up without protest.

"Mr. Wade…"

"Wilson"

"Mr. Wilson, if you could just step outside for a moment. I'll complete my initial examination of Ms…"

"Cayden"

"…Ms. Cayden, here and then I'll get to you."

"Oh no you don't. I'm not leaving her alone with you to do Doctory things to her while no one's looking. I had to practically wrestle those fuckers on Three Mile to make sure they didn't touch her when she passed out and I'm not giving you the chance to follow through. You can do your 'examination' and I'll be right here making sure you keep your probes to yourself!...Ew. If you probe yourself while we're in here I'm telling on you."

I'm stuck between the horror of realizing what could have happened on Three Mile if Wade hadn't been there to protect me and the sheer hilarity of what he just said to Dr. McCoy. Later, I'll swear it was because of the exhaustion but the shock finally gets to me and tears begin to stream down my face.

"Princess, baby, kitten, love, I swear I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm so sorry I just…"

I hop down off the table and shuffle over to Wade. It's all too much, realizing just how vulnerable I was, how easy it was to take me down, how close I came to being just another mutant under their microscope. And Wade…

"Thank you for protecting me," I whisper as I wrap my arms around him, suddenly feeling small and rather helpless.

"Oh little one. I wouldn't have let them. I know I didn't do a very good job of keeping you safe but I swear, I would have used every aftermarket mutation they have me to keep you from that; cancer be damned. I _promise_!"

"I believe you…Who the fuck gave you a shirt. I'll kill'em!"

Wade's snort was hard enough to shift a bit of my hair and I squeezed him tighter in response.

"I can totally take it off, pants too. I'm easy like that."

"I bet you are."

"I'm so sorry to interrupt this obviously much-needed moment to resettle. However, I think someone said cancer and I'd appreciate understanding the context, especially if someone needs treatment."

I take a deep breath before explaining Wade's circumstances to Dr. McCoy and adding in my tentative plan for treatment. By the time I'm done explaining, I'm half terrified that the doctor will tell me my plan is horrible and would have likely killed Wade had I actually attempted it.

"Well, my dear. I think you're on to something there."

Oh thank fuck.

"I'll need a better understanding of your abilities and a thorough evaluation of Mr. Wilson, perhaps a consult or two but I think we can make a go of this as soon as you're ready to make it happen. I can't believe I'm about to say this but it would be so nice to have Magneto in here. He could have easily determined if your theory was on point. As it is, we'll have to do things a bit differently but it's still entirely possible."

Wade is grinning from ear to ear and I can't help but smile back at him, squeezing his muscular frame a bit tighter and cuddling into his warmth.

Of course, it is in this moment that Gambit makes his way into the room and stops hard, taking in the scene of me in Wade's arms, grinning like a fool. Before he can say something to piss off Wade, I explain. Man, boys are such drama lamas.

"Dr. McCoy thinks my plan about Wade's condition will work."

"Ah, and we're celebraten, oui?"

"Oui!"

"Well then, come give Gambit a squeeze too, petit. He's happy for ya."

"Gumbo, you old dog. Tryin' to cop a feel, eh?"

Shit

"Cop a feel and I will fucking cut your heart out with a hairbrush."

That's a bit extreme…and highly improbable. I choose not to comment.

"Remy is a gentleman, you dirty wolf. He'll no be grabben anythin' the lady doesn wish ta be grabbed."

I shoot over to Gambit and give him a quick squeeze. As I feel his body against mine I realize I've been remiss in my expression of gratitude. I keep a hold on him, squeezing a bit tighter and smile at the feel of his arms wrapping tightly around my body. Man, I am seriously affection-starved. His hand pets my hair a bit before he leans down and kisses the top of my head. I pretend not to know that he's probably smirking at Wade while doing so.

"Gambit, thank you so much for coming to get us. You took a big risk on someone you've never met before and I know that's a really big deal. Especially since I was in your head without permission. I'm really sorry about that, by the way. I'm not a telepath so I'm not even sure how that was possible (lie, Remy's eyes narrow). Okay maybe I have an idea but I certainly didn't do it on purpose, so thank you thank you thank you!

"Ah my belle, the pleasure es all Remy's. He promises."

"Stop fucking referring to yourself in the third person. You are not that cool!"

"Ma fée, what are we doing down here?"

"Oh right!" I turn to Dr. McCoy who is patiently waiting by the examination table.

"I'm not leaving you here alone" Wade states firmly.

"Da man is a doctor, ya fool. What are ya all worked up over, now?"

"I don't fucking care that he's a doctor. The guys that were going to fuck with her while she was passed out in Three Mile were 'doctors' too and that wasn't going to stop them. I'm not leaving here alone with anyone! I don't fucking trust any of you. You'd all have let me die on that island, every one of you except her. She's the only one that gives a fuck about me and I'm not about to let anyone else hurt her!"

"Mr. Wilson, I appreciate your concern. Cayden may need to remove some of her clothing during the examination which is wh…"

"Duh, why else do you think I'm staying this close, I wanna see what she's rockin!"

"Oh fucken hell. Here ya are claiming Remy's going to cop a feel and you're tryen to spy on her doctor appointment. You crazy fuck, get the hell out of here."

"Okay, okay" I interrupt. "Remy and Wade, please wait outside where you can hear but not see, please? No one is looking at anything 'til I've had a shower, a nap, a meal, a date and a confession of undying, everlasting love…in that order. Please stay close in case I freak out. Thank you…now MOVE IT!"

All three of them scuttle out of the room and quickly settle outside the door. I can see Wade's elbow poking out from where he has taken station, leaning against the wall, just outside the room. It's as comforting as it is utterly ridiculous.

"My apologies, doctor. It's been a long day."

"I can only imagine. Now let's get started with the simple things, and we'll go from there."

Dr. McCoy makes quick work of the entire process but it still takes the better part of an hour to complete the examination. He spends some time studying the taser burns on my skin as well as the bruises and a small cut on my head. His report is no different than Janet's report and I'm relieved to know there's no permanent damage. Just as he's about to send me on my way, I remember something.

"Hey Bones!"

He only rolls his eyes.

"Expect that to stick. The doctor on Three Mile did an fMRI and some other scans and said I had abnormal brain wave patterns. I know that's not something you looked at today but maybe we can follow up on that later?"

"Hmmm, interesting."

"No… _Fascinating_"

"Yes, we can follow up on that, perhaps tomorrow after you've had a good night's rest?"

"Oh cool, we get to stay here? Sounds like a plan."

"Wonderful, now send in your friend. I've got a quota on crazy and surprisingly enough, especially after working in this mansion for over 50 years, you two are pushing my limit."

"Ummm sorry?"

"Nonsense, I'm sure it's part of your charm. It's just the combination that's a bit trying."

"I totally understand. I've never met anyone that keeps pace with me like he does. It's kind of incredible."

With that, I head over to Wade and poke him in the elbow. He turns to me with a big grin on his face and I know he heard what I said. It seems I've got a gift for making this psycho smile. I'm strangely proud.

"Your turn. Don't let him probe ya. You might just like it and leave me for him!"

With that I give him a shove and saunter over to Gambit who's holding up the opposite wall. It's clear he was brooding throughout the entire appointment and I can't say I'm impressed.

"Ma fée. How are ya?"

"I'm okay. Everything checks out."

My smile fades when he doesn't return my enthusiasm and I move to the side, leaning against the wall right next to him, our shoulders touching.

"What's wrong?"

He looks at me with such sadness in his ruby eyes and I feel tears pressing down on me.

"Remy did na' know, ma petit. Remy did na' know that he protected ya from dos men. I did na' realize ya wer' in dat kind a danger."

I realize that I just don't want to talk about it so I take an alternate distraction route and wrap myself up in his warm body once more.

"Let's sit" I whisper and we slide down the wall and settle on the cold, white floor.

"Thank you for coming to get us."

"Remy is jus' glad he got der en time."

"Me too… me too." And we stay just like that until Wade is released from the exam room.

"Seriously dude. What the fuck."

Guh, here we go again.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I really don't have the energy left to deal with this display anymore. Rather than try to wrangle these cats, I simply stand and make my way back to the elevator.

"Come on pups, let's get some food. I'm starving."

I can see both of my boys visibly deflate though the mention of food does leave some light in their eyes. Once in the elevator, I turn to Wade and inquire about his doctor visit.

"Dr. Fury Blue Fabulous says everything seems okay for now. He's interested in your theory about how to break up the cancer and is going to do some research on how that might work. I think we're both supposed to come back down tomorrow morning."

"Remy es impressed. Dat es da firs complete sentence he's heard from ya des 'ol time."

I punch Gambit in the shoulder. Now is not the time to provoke the crazy mutant.

"Suck it, glitter-bomb. You're still not cool enough to refer to yourself in the third person."

I'm sure they're both about to through a bitch-fest that would make a drag queen proud so when the elevator door slides open to reveal the dark wood interior of the Westchester mansion, I am utterly grateful.

"Duh-mazing. Let's eat."

But off course, we're never meant to eat.

The explosion that rocks the mansion sends the three of us flying backward into the elevator. I feel my head impact the solid interior wall of the lift and spare a moment to wonder how much more head trauma I'm expected to take before all I can handle is a chew toy and Dora the Explorer reruns.

When I look out into the hallway, all I can see is smoke and shards of charred wood littering the floor.

_Jeezus, this is a school!_

Knowing that I can be of use, and getting myself _off_ the floor to be of use, quickly become two very different things. I scrape the floor and struggle to get my feet underneath me before finally heaving myself forward on hands and knees. Crawling over the shattered wood turns out to be a seriously horrible idea and I realized this at the same time I realize I have no idea where my two companions have gone to.

Risking the time to turn and look for them makes my whole body quiver in fear but I know that I have to be sure they're both okay. If Wade takes damage, his rapid healing will kick in and the cancer will ravage him in hours. I have no idea what kind of damage Gambit is capable of handling but I doubt he's any more durable than I am.

To the left of me is a smoke-filled hallway and what I would assume to be the kitchen. There are no shapes in the shadows and I wonder where everyone else is. Would now be a bad time to grab a snack?

Isn't this supposed to be a house full of combat-ready mutants?

Why am I the only one here?

Wait…I'm the only one here?

What the fuck?

"Wade!" I scream, suddenly overcome by panic. "Gambit! Where are you?"

Not a single sound reaches my ears. In fact, no sound is reaching my ears. Until this moment I hadn't realized that my world had gone suddenly silent. I don't actually remember hearing the explosion, just feeling the force of it catapult me backwards into the elevator car. This doesn't make any sense.

Am I deaf?

Hefting myself up onto unsteady feet, I begin to shuffle my way toward what I vaguely remember as the front of the house. More debris, more smoke but not a single person in sight. I can only take some small comfort in the fact that I have yet to see any blood.

Where is everyone?

I can hear the sound of my own voice as I call out into the empty space.

"Hello? Is everyone okay? Does anyone need help?"

Still nothing. At least if I can hear myself talking that means I'm probably not deaf but that still doesn't explain why the rest of the world has gone suddenly silent. Eventually I make my way to the front door. It's strange that I haven't even seen who attacked the school. I suppose there's a possibility that this was done from the inside but trying to prove that seems like a ridiculous mission. I don't know enough about this mansion or who's supposed to be here or not be here to be useful.

Recalling many an episode of CSI: Miami, I press myself against the frame of the front door before hazarding a peek around the corner. And if my hands come up as if I'm holding a gun…well…no judging! At least I refrain from yelling out "Miami-Dade Police!"

My sneak-peek reveals an even stranger scene. The grounds seem to be completely peaceful. No signs of life or death to be found. No evidence of the explosion that rocked the estate. This makes no sense. My second peek reveals more of the same and I finally muster up the courage to make my way outside.

As far as the eye can see, there are blue skies, green grass and perfectly manicured English gardens. Xavier's got class. To the right I see the basketball court and the lawn where kids had been playing earlier. There's no sign of the jet or the kids; in fact, there's no indication that anyone has been here for some time.

Suddenly, a noise reaches my ears and it's so loud compared to the absolute silence up until that moment that I wince and pull my head away from the offensive sound. Regaining my composure, I turn to see what caused such a violent crack.

…Nothing. No Apparating wizards, no teleporters…nothing.

Now fear is beginning to take over again. My curiosity is waning and I'm beginning to realize that I really might be the only one left. But self-preservation demands that I not examine that idea any further. I cannot be alone. It's not possible so I won't think about it. Now…problem-solve!

Did I lose consciousness in the elevator?

How long have I been out?

Why would I be the only one left behind?

As I swivel my head back around to the front, time seems to suddenly slow like a movie cliché. I feel the force of the air against my right cheek as my head turns and the sensation of my eyelids sliding over my eyes in a slow blink. I can feel the heat of the sun on my lips and the sensation of every hair on my body standing on end, starting with the hair on my head and rushing down my body to the tiny hairs on my toes.

The abrupt sound of my own gasp scrapes across my eardrums and a figure takes shape before my eyes. In the milliseconds it takes my eyes to focus, the shape goes from a blob of color to the distinct outline of a man…one that I instantly recognize.

"What the _fuck_ Charles Francis Xavier!"

His low chuckle is the first sound since the explosion that didn't make me want to rip my ears off. The man is clothed in his typical style: a three piece suit with a solid blue tie, rich cream vest and a jacket that fit is broad shoulders like a glove. Gotta hand it to him; the man looks _good_…and vaguely like Captain Picard. I'll save that one for later.

"Seriously, Francis. What's going on?"

"You tell me."

Well, that's singularly _unhelpful_. His cultured English accent is smooth enough to lower my heartbeat in just three words despite the irritating nature of his response. The panic flows out of me like a deflating balloon and I unconsciously step toward him. Realizing what I've done, I take a giant step back again, suddenly cautious about being too close to this man that's _supposed_ to be dead and not standing right in front of me. Despite the uselessness of his statement, I'm compelled to answer and begin narrating recent events.

"There was an explosion…everyone's gone." I must sound the scared little girl I feel like at the moment because he moves toward me and wraps two strong arms around my shoulders. There's something strange about the embrace but I write it off to being hugged by a dead guy that once invaded my head and nearly caused me permanent brain damage.

"I doubt the damage would have been that severe, though it was a rather traumatic event for both of us."

"You are such a liar! I would have been…You asshole! I didn't say that out loud. Get the fuck out of my head!"

I scream the order as loud as I can; a parallel of events from years past. The force of my mutation makes the scream a physical thing, sending visible waves of sound out from my mouth and it's far too late by the time that I realize the impact would likely kill Xavier…again, and that's just rude.

But instead of throwing him backward, as the waves should have, they pass through him as if nothing happened at all, as if he didn't even exist. And in that moment, everything clicks into place.

"This is a hallucination, one that you're powering."

"Correct."

"Shit. Fine! Why?" I really don't have the energy to be as angry with him as I should be. Lucky for him too because my temper tantrums are epic. Just ask, well…him!

"That should be fairly obvious, my dear."

I roll my eyes and at the same time, marvel that his phrasing reminds me so much of Eric in that moment. It's quite easy to see that the two of them were once friends, close enough to pick up each other's habits and quirks. I wonder if those habits and quirks are all the two of them have left in common. It's a sad thought.

"Eric and I are still quite similar. We simply see a different path to mutant integration."

Rage bubbles through my veins, reminding me of why I hated his invasiveness so much the first time around.

"Cut the crap, hot-wheels. I've been kidnapped, beaten, threatened and starved. I'm in no mood for your cryptic baiting. Answer my questions or I'm throwing you out of my head, and I won't be as gentle as I was the last time you visited."

My threat seems to give him pause. Either that or my obvious exhaustion and complete disinterest in playing his game. Usually I'm up for a good mystery but this kind of manipulation has always been a pet-peeve of mind and I've made no effort to learn a more measured response.

"Very well, my dear. As you have already deduced. This is a hallucination. What you might not realize is that none of what you've been experiencing is real."

What?

"What?"

His enigmatic smile only serves to irritate me further and I resist the temptation to punch him.

"You're experiences over the past few days have all been a hallucination."

Something in my chest cracks at this news. Some part of me must know this already, but realizing that Remy and Wade aren't real, my strange accord with Eric and Mystique hasn't really happened, makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry.

"You have, in fact been kidnapped. But there was no one else with you. You've been taken to a discreet facility where you're currently undergoing a procedure to manipulate your alliances. Their goal is to create the memories necessary to convince you to take specific action on their behalf."

"Who is doing this to me?" My voice sounds hollow, exhausted. How could I have survived all of this only to find out that I'm actually still going through it?

"We don't know. You've reached the second phase of their procedure. The attack on the school, the one you've just experienced is what they call, introducing the enemy. Their goal is to create a desire for revenge by introducing an entity that eliminates everyone you've come to care about."

"Remy and Wade?"

"Correct."

"Fine. I get it. I'm in a brainwashing program. What do we do about it?"

"That, my dear, is entirely up to you."

I hate this. I don't know what to be angry about or who to be angry with. Xavier is right here in front of me, being completely unhelpful and he seems like as good a target as any.

"Listen, as far as I'm concerned, you're nothing more than an extremely well-dressed zombie. I don't know if you know…but you're dead. Phoenix killed you. Hate to be the one to break it to you but this also raises the point of credibility. Cuz, you know, you're a dead guy. How do I know I can believe you?"

Xavier doesn't seem to know how to respond to this. In fact, for a brief moment, his image seems to ripple and waiver.

"You must listen closely. Figure out how is in charge of this procedure and report back to me the next time I am able to break through the hallucination. They're going to wake you up soon. They've noticed a fluctuation in your brain patterns. Don't tell them that I was here."

With that final set of instructions, Xavier's image wavers again before fading away as abruptly as it appeared. Shortly after he disappears, the landscape of the school and its sprawling grounds begins to shift and lose cohesion.

So, this really is a hallucination. The question is, what will I wake up to?

My body begins to feel strange and, with all the subtlety of a Mack truck plowing through a brick wall, I am suddenly ripped from this empty world and unceremoniously expelled into a new one. One that I've never seen before. For a moment, I feel like I've been transported into a Star Trek episode. There are control panels everywhere, blinking lights and whirring sounds of various computers crunching away at data sets.

There are people moving around just out of my visual range and it's only when I try to focus on them that I realize how blurry my vision actually is.

How long have my eyes been closed?

The bright lights are sear my eyes and I feel like I've just walked out of a pitch-black cave and into the blinding desert sun. I can actually feel my pupils contract violently and the agonizing shock to my optic nerve as the light seems to literally punch me in the eye. Note to self: Baby steps next time.

Someone comes to stand next to me, perhaps to read one of the monitors and their complete lack of interest in the fact that I'm awake makes my skin crawl. Was Xavier right? Is this my new cage? Or is this the only cage I've actually been in the whole time.

Since no one seems to me interested in me, I take a moment to consider the previous days' events. If Xavier's real (and alive) and I was actually kidnapped, then my memories of that event are likely accurate. However, from that point on, everything else could be called into question. Perhaps I never woke up in the Trouble Truck. It would actually make more sense that they would have kept a dangerous mutant unconscious throughout transport to decrease the possibility that I might resist.

That would make Eric and Mystique a ruse to through me off track and perhaps get me to say something in confidence that I wouldn't normally say to my captors. From there, Wade would have been introduced as an emotional link, playing on my natural compulsion to help and Remy would have represented my link to the outside world and my hope for rescue.

Their personalities would be entirely flexible since I'd never met any of them before. But…shouldn't I have been able to sense the lie? That's kind of like…a thing of mine. I should have been able to tell they were lying…unless _I_ made them? What if my subconscious mind created the content of the conversations and these guys just gave me the "blank shells" to play with.

This sucks!

Just as I'm about to really start bitching at myself, a "nurse" makes his way over to me, making eye-contact and generally scaring the crap out of me. I stare at him with growing trepidation as he makes his way over to me. But, as he takes the final steps to the side of my bed, his facial expressions begin to change.

"Code Black! Code Black! It's awake!" He screams and the room erupts into a flurry of motion, blaring sirens and flashing lights.

What the hell?

_It_?

Xavier's story is looking more and more plausible. I don't know of any real doctors that call their patients "it." I'm saved from any defensive movement when everyone in the area literally runs for the doors. As the final person makes their way out, shoes squeaking on the floor as they slide across the generic linoleum I can't help but be flattered by the precaution.

How badass do they think I am?

More than I do, apparently. Sitting up is my next goal but my mission is quickly aborted when I feel the tight restraints around my wrists, ankles and chest. Wow. Talk about overkill. However, they clearly know what I am and what I'm capable of, even if I think they're being a bit generous, so there's really no reason for me to hide any more.

My life as I know it is forever changed. My secret is out; there's no going back. Might as well flex my proverbial wings…because I don't' think I have real ones. Focusing down on the buckle above my chest, I begin to imagine what that metal might sound like if it was rung like a bell. The frequency of the sound comes to my mind and I manipulate the sound until I'm sure I've got what I need.

Closing my eyes and focusing on the sound is always the easiest part. Trying to control the damage the sound wave is going to make is much harder. I have to make sure I don't overdo it and break something in my chest as I dismantle the metal of the buckle. That would be…unhelpful. The sound begins in my mind and emanates out from that point, filling my ears with its pure tone. It builds and builds as I imagine the waves enveloping the buckle and the metal begins to vibrate. Faster and faster it goes and then, like a crystal goblet, the buckle shatters, allowing the straps to fall uselessly to my sides.

The buckles on my wrists and ankles receive the same treatment and in short order, I'm free…well, at least free from this bed. Taking stock of my appearance, I realize I'm in a hospital gown and I try very hard not to think about who changed my clothes. However, my quest for denial is shattered when I realize that I've got a catheter; one that will have to be removed if I've got any hope of escaping.

The process is painful and it's only my determination that forces me through the task. Clearly, the planned on keeping me unconscious for quite some time. As toss away the offending tube I'm struck by an eerie sight.

My wrist.

There are sores and abraded skin all over the surface. I must have been resisting, even while unconscious, but it's not the state of my skin that disturbs me. There's barely any meat left on my wrist or my arm. I look emaciated, pale and sickly.

How much weight have I lost?

How _long_ have I been here?

A quick and terrified evaluation of my legs reveals the same status. I've lost almost all of my muscle mass. My skin is taught around the bones, pale and nearly transparent. Needle tracks cover most of my forearms and when my eyes settle on my current IV, I am filled with a horrible, dark rage.

How fucking dare they!

My fingers shake as I peel away the medical tape. It pulls painfully at my paper-thin skin and I wonder if the skin will tear before the adhesive gives way. Finally, the tape surrenders its hold on me and I quickly but carefully remove the needle from my arm. No sense in bleed out during my miraculous escape because of a torn vein. Besides, I'm pretty sure any blood loss in my state would be the end of the road for me.

Unbidden, the image of Remy and Wade pop into my mind and my breath is forced out of my chest by sudden and overwhelming despair.

No one is coming for you. No one is going to rescue you.

Tears spill down my cheeks and my breath hitches. I'm preparing for a full-blown meltdown when a quiet but determined voice comes to my mind.

_You have a choice to make, little girl. Lay down and accept your fate…or fight like the devil they think you are. _

Looking around once more through tear-distorted vision. I see my fate if I choose to surrender: lab rat. That rage begins to bubble within me once more. The same rage that had left me moments before when I saw the IV in my arm.

_Fine_, I think. _You want a devil. I'll show you a fucking demon._

Drawing on the sounds around me, I convert the waves into energy and let it infuse my body (I didn't even know I could _do_ that!) But, you know what they say: "Desperation is the breeding ground of invention." It takes me a moment to realize that the room has begun to shake with the intensity of my rage.

What a sight I must make; eyes, sunken in, body quaking with the effort to hold me upright as I hobble to the door. I bet my hair looks horrible. Ugh.

The door screeches and screams as I covert my sound into a usable form. With all the force of a sonic boom, the door finally gives way and is propelled away from me and into what appears to be a deserted hallway. Logically, I'll meet resistance somewhere. It wouldn't make sense for them to simply let me escape. My best shot is to save my energy, or what's left of it, for the coming battle and hope it's enough to get me out.

The question of where I'll go from here is too painful to contemplate. I've got nowhere to go. My self-imposed isolation from the mutant community has ensured that I have no allies in this dark hour. Ignoring the question is a matter of self-preservation at this point so I shove it aside in my mind and make my way down the corridor, leaning heavily on the unadorned walls.


End file.
